Walking Conundrum
by PurgatorialHearts
Summary: Set after successfully averting the Apocalypse, Sam is safe and everyone's happy - the only problem they face is the now human Castiel gracing Bobby's home with a sour attitude to his situation. Teaching stubborn Castiel to deal with a human body in the midst of the search for his Grace is both difficult and increasingly endearing for Dean. AU-ish, progressing Destiel throughout.
1. Sleep

"I know how to work a gun, Dean." Castiel murmurs, a breath of frustration breaking free of his usual gruff monotone. His eyes flicker from the gun to the broad-shouldered hunter looming in the dusk light from the window in Bobby's kitchen, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. Dean met his gaze squarely.

"Disassemble and re-assemble that gun and then I'll let you go do whatever you want." Dean instructed, cautiously meeting Sam's disapproving gaze from across the room. Where Dean had enforced teaching the now-human Castiel how to use weapons first, Sam had opted to teach the ex-angel how to look after himself – learn _simple_ things, like cooking, how to work the shower.

Dean had won that argument.

Castiel sucked in a breath and let it out steadily as he reached for the pistol, breaking it apart and slipping the pieces back together with ease; he'd observed Dean do the exact same movements with the same pistol. The man had a habit of disassembling and reassembling the guns in his spare time whilst Sam did solo research on a case – not that he'd ever noticed this himself…Or registered Castiel being in the same room for that matter.

"Alright," Dean huffed in approval, giving Cas a hefty pat on the back as he shifted around him towards the fridge. "At least we're sure you can work your way around a gun."

"Dean, this is ridiculous." Sam sighed. "Just because he's h-"

"Human. Yeah. He's human, Sam - He can't magic his way out of a risky situation anymore," Cas gave Dean an inquisitive look – he couldn't recount a single incident where he'd ran from a fight. Dean ignored it, "I just needed to see that our little post-apocalypse Pinocchio here can look after himself."

"Pinocchio?" Castiel repeated questioningly, gaze travelling to Sam for answers, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Pinocchio, uh, he's the main character of a story where a puppet becomes a real boy." Sam offered, one hand motioning through the air the other hovering over the mouse pad of his laptop. Castiel winced at the implications and sat down, suddenly feeling a wave of what must be tiredness crash over him. As he scanned the night-darkened room, illuminated by a dull glow from the lamp in the corner on the counter, Castiel wanted nothing more for the first time than to sleep.

The notion was anything but welcome.

The apocalypse had been averted and Sam was sitting with them, safe and the same as ever inside Bobby's home, but the only negative outcome had affected him - Castiel, the Angel of the Lord. He was completely drained, his batteries completely dried out.

He was human.

As far as Castiel was concerned he considered himself useless, too, but Dean had disagreed and forced these military-like training operations on him; constantly telling him "_You are not useless._" Like a drill sergeant would a new recruit. Castiel appreciated the effort Dean had put in to soften the blow of sudden human limitations but it hadn't taken away from the fact that none of them could understand the implications and effects this ailment entailed.

He was fallen, therefore he was hunted no doubt.

Sam and Dean watched intently from their posts on either side of the room as the strange sight of the once-angel fighting off the bouts of sleep encroaching on his untrained consciousness caused his head to lull forward and then snap back upright, sidetracking them as they went about their business. Dean held his bottle of beer hovering absentmindedly about his lips and Sam peered up from his laptop, intrigued. The only time the two had seen Castiel sleep was when he was comatose, his vessel's body completely worn out beyond conscious repair, so seeing the man who never slept to dream slowly succumb to the human need of rest was like watching a gorilla sing "Barbie Girl" in your local pub – disturbing, confusing, strangely amusing and extraordinary.

The moment of silent study passed quickly, however, when Castiel slumped gracelessly to the floor accompanied by a loud and painful _thud_. The sound brought the brothers back to their senses and they hurriedly exchanged panicked expressions that seemed to say: _"You pick him up." "No, you."_

"Don' just stand there lookin' pretty," Bobby groaned from his seat at the desk in the living room, the scene reminding him of a very bad stage play. "Dean, pick him up and drag his ass to a bed. The poor sonuvabitch is out cold."

Dean sighed and laid his half-empty beer on the counter, moving reluctantly towards the heap of tan, black and white fabric sprawled out by the leg of the chair in front of him. Bending down over his friend, his hands hovered cautiously around the man as he pondered how he was going to lift him up without having to shake him for fear of waking him. A few awkward seconds of silence passed and Dean, with no other ideas, caved in to the most humiliating option. Manoeuvring so that he was stationed behind Castiel's sleeping form, Dean hooked his arms underneath the crook of his knees and curled his other arm around his back, spanning his shoulders, proceeding to lift the man with a grunt of effort so he stood like a husband cradling his newly-wed spouse.

Sam let out a splutter of laughter at the sight, which was met with a swift "Can it, Sam." from a very disgruntled Dean who sidled past him into the living room, fighting the urge to swing Castiel's body so that his limp feet made contact with his little brother's smug face on the way by.

"_Damn_, Cas, you're heavier than I thought." Dean muttered to the unconscious body in his arms as he padded his way up the stairs, reaching the landing with steady determination as he made his way into what had been renovated into his room and lay the body of his friend as softly as he could manage onto the mattress, breathing a sigh of relief at the lifted strain on his arms and legs.

He plonked himself down on the edge of the bed and dedicated a few moments to listening into the silence, hearing the soft hum of the intake and dismissal of breath from the sleeping man behind him. It was a clear, crisp sound overlapping the distant buzz of the television downstairs and the warmth emitting from Castiel's hip which rested against the small of Dean's back was comforting.

Dean could get used to Cas sleeping, he thought, but the predominant fact was that it'd take Cas a while to accept that he needed to sleep at all, or eat for that matter, or strictly _need_ to do anything human. He looked over his shoulder at the form behind him, dead to the world, and allowed himself a smile when he gazed upon Castiel's peaceful expression.

Like it or not, he was going to be stuck human for the foreseeable future and both Dean and Sam had decided they weren't going to have him battle it out alone.

Raising himself from the bed and stealthily making his way out of the room, blind in the darkness, Dean shuffled his way down the stairs and onto the living room couch, feeling considerably tired himself. A _click_ sounded as Sam closed his laptop and announced his departure to bed. Dean was silent. If he wasn't already asleep then he chose not to acknowledge his little brother as payback for the giggle fit at his expense before.

A few hours passed before everyone in the house was asleep.

Or so they thought.

* * *

"Dean," Dean flinched, eyes still closed. He was not getting up on a day off, especially after successfully thwarting the apocalypse and throwing bloody_ Satan_ back into his pit. Nope. No way. "_Dean!_" The voice came again, more earnest than before. "Dean, wake up."

"Fuck off, Sammy." He growled into one of the pillows, squishing the fabric to his ear as he shuffled over to face the back of the chair, turning his back to who he suspected was his brother.

"I'm not Sam, Dean." Came the rough reply, barely more than a whisper. Dean swivelled round, one eye open curiously as he scanned the dark in search of a face. By the edge of the sofa stood Castiel, hair sticking out at odd angles and clothes creased, looking shaken. What was he doing awake?

"Cas, go back to sleep you look awful." Dean breathed, pulling himself upright groggily, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"I don't want to, Dean." Castiel replied stubbornly, his wide blue eyes focused solely on the man on the couch in front of him. "I had a nightmare." He spoke the words as if they caused him physical pain.

Dean was momentarily taken aback, realisation cutting his _Angels don't dream_ thought short when the recollection of Cas's sudden human infliction dawned on his drowsy mind. "Cas, you need to sleep," Dean started sympathetically, seeing the hurt in the blue eyes that shone down on him in the dark. Castiel's eyebrows knotted in frustration.

"I don't like it. I don't like_ sleep_, Dean. It doesn't feel right." Castiel's voice came as a shaky whisper.

"Sit down, maybe you'll drift o-"

"I'm an _Angel, _Dean, I-" Castiel's voice hitched in his throat. Dean looked up at him expectantly but the expression soon shifted to sympathy as the unfinished sentence pieced itself together in the heavy air –_ I'm an Angel, Dean, I don't need to sleep._

Castiel sat down dejectedly next to the hunter who was slowly waking up, much to his dismay. It was starting to look like a good night's rest wasn't an option, unfortunately. Just his luck.

Worn out and lost for words, Dean trailed a hand down his face and sucked in a breath, slowly pushing it out and looking around the room for a distraction from the moping man beside him who had lain back and tilted his head to look up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Finally looking over to him, the steady rise and fall of the man's chest was the only movement visible in the dull midnight glow. He couldn't speak. Sam was the one who was good at pep talks, not him.

Dean cleared his throat, "Wanna watch some TV?" he asked, reaching for the remote in the dark and flipping the switch on the set. When there was no acknowledgement to the question. Dean looked over to his companion. At first glance it looked as if Castiel had fallen prey to sleep yet again, but the flutter of his eyelashes now and again signalled otherwise. Taking the silence as a yes Dean turned on the TV and the room was filled with low chattering voices, the light emitting from the screen dancing across the room. The two sat in silence as Dean surfed through many bad late-night shows and finally settled on old cartoons upon finding nothing else promising. He soon sank down into the couch to get comfortable, lying on his back, legs in an arch, head turned towards the screen and feet rested centimetres away from where Castiel sat upright and unmoving, eyes glued to the scenes playing out before him. Dean mentally braced himself for a long and uneventful night.

Coming to terms with being human was going to be harder for Cas than he'd first thought.

Time passed quietly and unaware he was slowly falling back to sleep, Dean was shocked awake by a sudden pressure on his lower leg. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, his gaze was met with the messy mop of brown unruly hair rested against his knee, the remainder of Castiel's body weighing relentlessly as he succumbed to a human slumber. He'd passed out. _Again_.

In the short moment that passed, Dean thought of several things he could do: leave the man to sleep here and risk waking him to go up to bed, wake him up and make _him_ go to bed (which he would probably stubbornly refuse to do) or let him sleep, stay here and put up with his self-pitying mood swings in a few hours. Dean chose the latest option and dropped his head back onto the pillow, turning off the TV, the images simmering away with a smooth buzz and steadily shifted into a more comfortable position, careful not to move his legs and disturb the fallen angel snoozing softly.

_Sam is going to have his jollies in the morning_, Dean thought bitterly. "Stop freakin' passing out, you dope." He whispered viciously. He scrunched up his face in discontent with the oncoming ridicule, breathing a sigh and eventually faded pleasantly into welcome oblivion.

* * *

He'd fallen asleep again, he knew it -_ Damn_ the human body. This time, however, the dream didn't seem so bad. He was flying, like he'd been able to only weeks before; Rocketing among the clouds, reaching the Winchesters in a second flat, called by their poorly worded prayers then skyrocketing back to Heaven in the blink of an eye, feeling nothing but the wind on his face – no fatigue, no hunger, no craving for anything, not one thing. The baby blue skies stretched, limitless around him, his outstretched wings tousled by the weak breeze in the empty expanse.

He was free.

He was content.

And suddenly he was falling.

He cascaded through the layers of water vapour that encircled the borders of the sky, deep blue being replaced by bleak white and then sinking into blues again as if he were drowning. The comforting touch of the wind on his face became violent and it clawed and tore at his body threatening to rip him to shreds as the Earth raced up to meet him. The mountains upheld like sharpened pikes ready to impale him and the land and seas seemed equal in their concrete nature as he jetted towards them, reaching for somewhere he could find solace, where he could stop this – stop him falling. The feeling of feeling nothing at all was replaced by the notion of pure fear, panic, helplessness, the need to scream out for someone to save him – who would save him? He opened his mouth as the seas came towards him but the salt air ripped the words from his lungs and left him mute as he tore through the surface of the water. He felt his body shatter like glass, his angelic form detonate and spray like rain in front of him as he looked back through the eyes of Jimmy Novak, falling deeper and deeper and deeper into the black abyss as every human emotion swam in to consume him.

"_**CAS!"**_

Castiel's eyes snapped open in an instant and he jerked his body upright. He'd broken out in a cold sweat and his eyes were wild and coloured with terror when he locked eyes with Sam Winchester: the younger brother, the boy with the demon blood, the kind brother with a big heart, and suddenly he didn't feel so frantic. When he saw the worry, the blind concern for someone who Sam supposedly considered his friend, his fears subsided slightly and Castiel let the tension seep from his shoulders as he dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes free of any lasting tell-tale signs of horror from that_ nightmare_. When he straightened up again he became aware of the strong grip on his shoulder. Dean, in a flurry of alarm, had reached out to him and seized his shoulder in an attempt to wake him from his dreams and now sat parallel, bolt upright with a panic in his eyes that matched Cas's own.

Castiel couldn't help but feel admiration for these two brothers who seemed to care so much.

"Boys, everything okay?" Asked Bobby, his tone laced with unease as he made his way down the stairs and into the living room where the three were in close proximity to each other, Dean sitting clutching onto Castiel's shoulder for dear life and Sam kneeling in front of him, each of them wearing a similar expression.

"It was just a nightmare." Cas told them, recollecting that stoic look he wore so well. Bobby gave him a look that blatantly said he was not convinced whereas Dean released his grip on his friend, breathing a sigh and muttering _"I thought you were having a heart attack or something," _as Sam slowly got to his feet, searching Castiel's face, the concern still chiselled into his features even as he turned to follow Bobby into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Sam and Bobby exchanged some quiet words while in the next room Cas sat still gathering his thoughts as Dean lay back down on the couch, his initial concern with Cas replaced by the pleasant fact that Sam hadn't been able to bring up the subject of _"Why were you two asleep like that last night?" _and smiled to himself.

Perturbed by his situation and considerably uncomfortable, Castiel wished he could just zap himself away from here and try as he might, pray as he might, he just couldn't do it. Hence he took the human option: "I'm going for a walk." He announced and marched straight out of the room without warning, bolting right out of the house, past the yard and starting off down the road. As the door clicked closed and Castiel's tan trench coat slid out of sight the words hung in the air as the three men left in the confines of the house processed the words.

_Where the hell was he going? _

Bobby practically lived in the middle of nowhere.

Sam looked to Dean immediately and the oldest of the brothers huffed a frustrated sigh and followed right after him, out the door muttering _"For God's sake, you'd think he'd stop being able to disappear like this…" _

"Hey! Where are you going?" Dean asked, voiced raised as he caught up, walking along a few paces behind Castiel who marched aimlessly down the road. He even walked like how Dean would imagine a Soldier of God would walk. "This road doesn't go anywhere for miles, Cas."

"I'm just walking, Dean, leave me alone and I'll be back soon."The man answered, unsure of how long he would be able to walk on being completely human, but curious to find out the various limitations this body held. He walked to "_clear his head" -_ that was what "_fresh air_" was supposed to do, right?

His thoughts wandered. _Damn_, that nightmare had really put him off. He had to get his Grace back, but how?

"Hey I got an idea. How 'bout you and me turn around and walk the other way?" Dean jogged forward and caught Cas by the shoulder to turn him around, "There's a diner two or three miles or so past Bobby's." He suggested, unhappy with the concept of following Castiel down the road with no end in sight. Cas turned to look at him and for the first time in the morning sun, Dean realised how spent the Angel actually looked. Tie hanging loosely – looser than normal, anyway – his white shirt was unbuttoned to his collarbone which jutted out sharply and the tone of skin overlaying it didn't provide much contrast to the whiteness of the fabric. His trademark tan trench coat hung scruffily over one shoulder as the other side slid to beneath his shoulder blade and his hair stood on end in a manner which made him look both in need of a comb and charismatic at the same time. He looked tired.

His eyes, however, had not lost that curious tinge.

The reverie was cut short by the sudden change of surroundings that caught both Dean and Castiel off guard as they were transported to the diner Dean had intended to take them to, the chattering of customers and waiters filling their ears as if they'd just been submerged into water. The shift in atmospheric pressure was a tell-tale sign an Angel was at work here. "Dean, I think I understand why you didn't like that now." Castiel said queasily from across the table, looking pale in the face and clutching his stomach.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

Balthazar sat coolly beside Castiel, waiting for his brother to regain his composure. Dean was just about to complain about how _sick to death_ he was of Angels moving him about the place when Balthazar spoke.

"Hey, Dean. Just needed to drop in for a second to see how little Cassie was doing." He told them, although the underlying tone lacing his words wasn't quite so cheery. He studied his brother as if he were a doctor trying to figure out what was making someone ill, or in Castiel's case, human. His gaze trailed along Castiel's face and ended when they made eye contact. Balthazar's features immediately softened. "I was hoping they were pulling my strings, but looks like you really have lost your Grace, there, Brother." He said apologetically.

"Thanks for the update." Came the bitter reply.

"Well, this should be just _wonderful_." Dean muttered, reaching for a menu.

* * *

**Author's note: This is my first fan fiction! This story's gonna be pretty long so I hope you guys enjoy the oncoming chapters. Feel free to leave a review - it'd really help.**


	2. Acceptance

As Balthazar spoke in hushed tones with Castiel, whose expression didn't waver in the slightest to the news he was hearing, Dean ordered his food and ordered Cas's as well. Since the encounter with the horseman Famine it was pretty clear which foodstuff got the Angel's mouth watering and Dean had given up trying to get his attention as the man's blank stare seemed insistent on trying to burn holes through the table in front of him.

The poker face Castiel held stirred a certain uneasiness in Dean and he looked aimlessly between the two Soldiers of Heaven, both of whom had chosen against their previous lifestyle of blind faith in the divine plan God had supposedly set that had coerced the beginning of the end of the world and tried to pick up any stray word that Balthazar uttered, suddenly feeling considerably ostracised from the whole conversation. The truth of Dean's growing discomfort due to staring at his friend's impassive features soon shifted to curiosity upon gazing at the fitfully expressive face of Balthazar, whose perception of personal space matched that of Castiel's own, his arm slung behind his brother, body turned within centimetres of contact and his mouth ghosting along the shell of his ear as he conveyed every piece of information he knew on the subject of Cas's Grace.

Dean fought the urge to express the general social benefits a few more centimetres would have held between the two in the eyes of the waitress who walked apprehensively towards them.

The petite waitress lay down the two plates, a cheese burger sitting fitfully on top of both and muttered her pleasantries before skittering away, face red with embarrassment as she convinced herself she'd just possibly interrupted an intimate moment between the men sitting dangerously close. Dean widened his eyes in an exasperated manner as he pushed a cheese burger under Castiel's nose and watched as the man stared at it, confused for a second, before looking up and giving Dean a grateful smile.

Dean's eyes flitted to Balthazar as he thought _"Suck on that, attention hog," _before being struck by how utterly childish and needlessly jealous he was being.

Wait, he was jealous?

That was new.

Suddenly wary of himself and before his brain could bombard him with countless unwanted possibilities, Dean stemmed all cognitive processes by clumsily cramming an impressive half of the cheese burger into his mouth.

Balthazar stared at him for a moment, perplexed, before shuffling out of the booth and into the walkway.

"I'm afraid I've got to be off, gents." He said, "Cas, I've told you everything I know so far, so if anything comes up expect a visit from me as soon as I can untangle myself from my business up above. Dean, be a dear and don't choke and die on that disgusting mouthful." He gave Dean a curt nod, which was met with a half-assed wave in response, before tearing out of sight in a flurry of displaced air.

Finally alone in the diner the silence hung like a dead weight, the only sound being Dean sloppily finishing his generous helping of cheese burger and forcing it down his gullet as he clapped eyes upon Castiel absentmindedly staring through the double-glazed window at the desolate road.

"So," Dean began, "What's the news?" he looked down at his plate and when he looked back up Castiel was staring at him.

"My batteries are fried," Castiel answered, following up with a hefty dismissal of breath he'd been holding since Balthazar's leave. "My brothers and sisters have been conversing on the subject of the whereabouts of my Grace for the past three hours and none of them are sure of its location. Most of them are glad, since I was disobedient, that I can't return as of yet but others such as Inias have agreed to help Balthazar locate it."

The fleeting look of hurt that shot across Cas's eyes upon the mention of the Angels happy with his dismissal from Heaven stabbed at Dean's chest painfully.

"Alright…" Dean sighed, "Hey, cheer up, man – Bobby's lookin' for ways to track your Grace as we speak. Eat your food and relax."

Castiel eyed up the burger hungrily as his hands slithered towards it from underneath the table. He reckoned the tightness he felt in his stomach was caused by starvation inflicted upon his vessel in the years he hadn't needed to eat, so he wolfed the burger down mercilessly as Dean watched in a mixture of horror and pride. They both made short work of their meal and Castiel agreed on dessert.

The ice-cream Sundaes, complete with sparklers and carried by an unnerved waiter, confused with the men's sweet tooth at half eleven in the morning, plonked onto their table and Dean watched the curiosity flare in Cas's startling blue eyes as he reached out to grasp the spoon and dig in to one of the many colours of frozen cream presented to him.

He didn't expect the sudden change in atmosphere when he posed the question: "What about the nightmare this morning got you so hot and bothered, anyway?"

It was a completely innocent query but as Dean looked up the effect it had on the man worried him. Castiel had gone completely blank, stoic expression once again masking any emotion he'd portrayed before and face blanching as white as snow.

"I was falling." He answered idly, hand moving to caress the back of his neck and very human body language projecting the fact that the question had derailed him. The sudden guilt Dean experienced was accompanied by a scolding thought - _What the hell else would terrify a frickin' Angel? _A fall from grace and being stripped of everything you are certainly seemed like a traumatising concept. He looked uncomfortably away through the window, avoiding the sight of the man sitting, unmoving, probably trapped in a sudden torrential rain of his own thoughts in front of him.

They sat out the rest of their meal in a cold quiet.

* * *

The walk back to Bobby's up the deserted road was stiflingly awkward, Castiel lagging a few paces behind as Dean lead the way down the narrow side-road. Dean cleared his throat, intending to start some harmless conversation but the heated stare he got in response told him Castiel wasn't in the mood for a good ol' chat. Dean turned his back on the man and sucked in a frustrated breath. How much farther was Bobby's, again?

When the door swung open and the two silently filed into the kitchen, Sam knew exactly what was wrong judging by the faraway look on the ex-Angel's face. He turned to Dean, his lips pursed and eyes flaring in accusation to which Dean responded with a shrug that just about screamed _"I didn't know he was going to react like this!"_

Just as Sam was about to suggest an activity of learning something useful besides weaponry, Castiel gravitated towards the fridge that Dean loitered in front of; Surprised by the distance being covered so quickly Dean shuffled away like an opposing magnet. Castiel's eyes bore into him for a moment before flitting to the alcohol stored in the fridge. That was the ticket.

Upon close analysis of Dean, the only human reaction to wanting to forget something – in his case that damned nightmare and his lost Grace – seemed to be the consumption of alcohol. So, following in Dean's footsteps, Castiel effortlessly flipped off the lid and chugged the liquid with off putting speed, both Winchester's looking on in stunned silence.

"Uh, Cas. You feelin' okay?" Sam asked, momentarily locking questioning gazes with his brother before looking back towards to the man in question who leaned back onto the counter, inspecting the label of the bottle he held. Bobby arrived on the scene and hesitantly hovered in the doorway, eyeing up the new addition to the house.

"No," Castiel answered bluntly. He motioned to the bottle in his hand and asked "Do you have anything stronger?" his face an unnerving stone mask.

"If you wanna drink away your sorrows, go to a bar." Bobby chimed in, not pleased by the idea of having an intoxicated and upset Angel of the Lord screwing around on his property if the man was so intent on drinking himself into a stupor. He briefly recounted the amount of times Dean had drank his woes away to the bottom of a bottle of beer in front of the easily influenced Angel and mentally registered this whole situation Dean's fault, giving him a judgemental look. Dean looked directly at him and scrunched up his face in disbelief, finding a recurring theme emitting from both Sam and Bobby.

Basically, everything Castiel did was somehow Dean's fault. _Great._

Dean threw his arms up in surrender. "Right, I get it – he learnt it from me. _'You're a bad role model, Dean.'_ Oh, boo-hoo, I'm going to the bar myself. C'mon, Cas." He swiftly marched out of the kitchen and into the hall, exiting the house and clambered into the Impala. "At least you don't saddle me with all the blame, do you, Baby?" He sat and sulked, waiting, before the familiar tan coat rounded the corner of the house and Castiel climbed into the passenger seat.

"Bobby told me to inform you that when we get back he's going to kick your ass for being a brat." Cas recited flatly, turning a blank gaze on Dean who stared at him in quiet disbelief before letting out a grunt of frustration with the happenings of his thought-to-be-quiet Saturday so far.

The engine roared into life and Dean pulled quickly out of the yard and started off down the single road that ran past Singer Salvage.

* * *

The two found themselves in the bar still as men crowded in for drinks at the end of their day. The sun had set a good few hours ago and the Saturday night party atmosphere had settled over the establishment leaving the two men pressed side by side by the rabble around them. Neither of them seemed to mind the length of their legs pressed tightly together and their arms almost tangling into each other and continued exchanging stories from their pasts. With the numbing buzz of the alcohol coursing through their bodies, Dean found that Castiel was a lot more susceptible to being convinced that sharing his experiences since the beginning of time was a brilliant idea.

When Dean asked what it felt like to fly - his tipsy state forgetting it might've been insensitive to ask - instead of completely shutting down like he had before, Castiel shot into an upright position and leaned in close to Dean in excitement.

"'t's beautiful," he slurred, jutting forward, knocking shoulders with Dean as he swayed with the current of the surrounding crowd. "'t's just stunning blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Hell, I didn' even mind when I accidentally flew through a rain cloud one day – it was really cold but refreshing at the same time, but I don't recommend it, Dean." He gave a theatrical shake of his head and poured a shot of vodka down his throat. Dean watched, grin plastered on his face at the new side of the man he saw sitting in front of him – he may have been intoxicated to the point of liver failure but the life in his eyes and the free way in which he spoke struck a chord with Dean, and he was really enjoying watching the Angel slur his words.

"Were you born knowing how to use your wings or… taught… by someone…?" Dean waffled around the question, mind becoming a tad hazy. Completely human, Cas's heavyweight alcohol tolerance collapsed into barely being able to stand after three pints of Fosters and two vodka shots but Dean was hot on his heels, slumping quickly into a drunken state which he welcomed with open arms. He smiled when his gaze fell onto Cas trying to remember, eyes narrowed at the bottles decorating the shelf.

"Gabriel taught me. Michael tried but he got mad when I kept twitching my wing into his hip," he laughed at the memory; Dean smiled as he continued, "Michael was a bit of a _dick_." He concluded bluntly, hand twitching as if he'd plucked the profanity from the air and Dean snorted into his drink. Maybe the man _was _picking things up from him.

As the bar became louder and the conversation took a nose dive into "What?"'s and "I can't hear you!"'s, Dean decided it was best the two of them leave. Castiel clambered clumsily down from the bar stool and followed Dean out of the bar into the cool night air, sighing in delight as the wind whipped around him, body warm and clammy from his time in the packed building.

"Oh." Dean mouthed, looking lost at the Impala sitting in the car park. "Aha, I forgot I was driving."

Dean inwardly kicked himself as he and Castiel, completely inebriated, slid into the driver's and passenger's seat of the beloved 1967 Chevy Impala parked immaculately, if Dean did say so himself, and pondered how they were going to make it back to Bobby's. He conveniently dismissed the idle threat of an ass-whooping for being moody when they eventually walked back into the household and plucked his phone from his pocket, sweeping through his contacts list and coming to a halt when it landed on "Sam." He dialled the number and held it up to his ear as Cas looked distractedly around the interior of the car muttering something about how "_utterly fascinating_" it was.

A clicking from the earpiece pulled Dean from staring at his companion's awe-struck expression and he cleared his throat, embarrassed to find himself so intrigued by the guy.

He was acting strange lately, he told himself, before a sleep-roughened "_Hello?_" sang into his ear.

"Sammy! Hey," he voiced with more cheer than intended. He could feel Sam rolling his eyes at him.

"Dean, it's three in the morning, where are you?" His brother sighed, voice crackling.

"Yeah, about that… I forgot I was driving and drowned myself in drink, so could you be a sport and come pick us up?"

The silence that met him on the other end of the line was deafening and he turned to find Castiel staring at him intently, eyes glazed over and body swaying in the seat; he looked pale. Dean took a precaution, reached over and rolled down Cas's side window, deciding he'd rather die than have to clean up Angel vomit. Cas gave him a drowsy smile before hanging his head out the window.

"Sorry, Dean, I can't." Came his brother's voice, the phone crackling as Sam exhaled into the mouth piece, "You have the Impala and none of the cars in Bobby's yard are fit to drive."

"What about Bobby's car?" Dean pushed, voice pushing the borders of a whine.

"Tires're off." He answered flatly.

"Aw, dude, you suck." Dean breathed, defeated.

"Goodbye, Dean." Sam groaned, followed by a _beep_ and the dial tone.

Dean snapped his phone shut, glaring at the wheel for a few moments before finding his resolve and putting the keys into the ignition, revving up the engine and carefully pulling the car out of the car park as smoothly as his lead body could manage in a haze of drunken indecisiveness, hoping he could steadily drive up the two streets onto the road to Bobby's without incident.

He wasn't going to drive all the way home drunk and blind in the night - he was just going to get onto the way and park it on a side-road after about a mile or so then save the rest of the drive for when he woke up, he decided.

* * *

Luckily for him he didn't get into any trouble before he slotted the Impala between two fields on a dirt road and turned off the engine, letting out a sigh of relief before reclining the driver's seat and nestling in, Castiel supposedly asleep beside him, head rested on the open window.

* * *

An hour or so passed and the two sat in silence, both thinking the other was quietly sleeping in the time that stretched on before Castiel turned his head, took a sobering gulp of air and tapped the man who lay still, head resting to the side, arms crossed and awake in the darkness beside him. Dean jerked his head round at the sudden pressure by his knee and pulled himself up.

"What is it?" He asked, head rushing at the speed at which he'd bolted upright.

Castiel tapped his hand on the dashboard of the interior of the car and paused a moment. "Thank you." He said.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "For what?" He asked, manoeuvring the back on his seat upright and leaning into it, full attention on the man beside him.

"I first thought that I wasn't going to be able to stand being human," he began, head bowed. "But after tonight I think I'm more confident." He raised his head a little and shot a shy glance Dean's way. Dean searched his face, finding Castiel's mannerisms endearingly human and smiled back.

"Good, I'm glad." He answered distractedly, before reluctantly turning his attention to the stars that shone beautifully in the navy sky above them. Castiel followed his gaze.

"I suppose this punishment is worth it." He murmured, scanning the heavens. "To be able to look up at the stars knowing that billions of humans are, too – ones that could potentially have died because of my father's disregard and my brother's selfish actions… it is certainly a… _warm_ notion."

Dean slipped a grin at the awkward edge in the man's wondrous tone beside him and hummed his agreements, the sobering conversation drawing to a halt. The two locked drifting gazes and spontaneously sank into soft laughter, the heavy air from that morning dispersing into the still night air, the pent up negativity towards their situation subsiding in a landslide of warm emotion and companionship, the two sitting cosily inside the Impala, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but comforting thoughts and each other.

Dean decided the constant presence of the naïve Angel wasn't going to be as obnoxious as he first thought and looked forward to seeing the man slowly wind down and settle into the family Dean considered him already a beloved member.

Castiel's tormented thoughts organised themselves and he welcomed the mortality he so stubbornly denied before, choosing to cherish the time he had chained to only one world, Heaven slowly but undeniably becoming a distant concept to him.

His family was here, now.

And he wasn't letting them go so easily.

* * *

**Author's note: Gosh guys, I'm so sorry! I hope this is a good follow on from last chapter, I try to make the transitions as smooth as possible from one chapter to another but I'm still new to this and need to work on it. I hope it's satisfactory. Tell me what you think!**


	3. Target

Arriving back at Bobby's before midday, finding the house still, both Dean and Castiel decided they weren't going to face the wrath of the other residents and retreated into Dean's bedroom, both intending to sleep away their pounding headaches. The floorboards creaked as both men came to a halt in front of the single bed; They stood in contemplative silence.

Dean stared blankly at the welcoming sheets before him and couldn't believe he was thinking it'd be acceptable sleeping side-by-side, squashed into the small space with the ex-Angel, his thoughts tripping over themselves in search for another option that refused to come to light in his hung-over haze.

"I'll sleep on the couch." Castiel stated indefinitely, dragging Dean hastily away from his rioting mind, the two sparing awkward glances before Dean stuttered his agreements and flattened himself onto the bed as Castiel made a swift exit.

_Dodged a bullet there_, Dean thought as he crushed his face into his pillow, letting out a satisfied groan as the cold fabric pressed against his forehead.

* * *

The afternoon sun cascaded through the open curtains in Dean's makeshift room, Sam stumbling upon his sibling sprawled in a most undignified manner - curled around his sheets and head huddled protectively under a layer of pillows, breath coming deep and heavy.

"Dean?" Sam sighed, walking over to him and switching on the bedside lamp standing on the desk beside his head. "Dean, wake up." He instructed, pulling the pillows away and nudging the man's shoulder. Dean groaned, opening his eyes just a crack.

Sure of his disturbance this time, he mumbled a swift "Fuck off, Sammy." before nestling into his covers.

Sam gave an incredulous jolt of laughter and pulled Dean deftly from his mattress and onto the floor. "Dean, we gotta go, an old friend of Bobby's called, says there's a werewolf in Jamestown." He told him, smiling mischievously as Dean glared up at him from the wood flooring. "Get dressed." He concluded, walking triumphantly out of the room.

Dean let everything sink in for a moment before letting out a quiet _"Son of a bitch!" _registering sadly that his long-awaited break was over.

Fully clothed, Dean staggered his way down the stairs and into the living room where the three other residents of Singer Salvage sat to attention, wide awake and prepared. Dean noticed Cas cradling a glass of water as he sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, stationed beside Sam on the edge of the couch and made his way into the kitchen to claim his own glass as Bobby detailed their new hunt.

"Peter called and said that he's been on the trail of a werewolf up in Jamestown, not far from here." He began, watching as Dean stumbled his way back into the room, resting on the doorframe gulping his glass of cold water thirstily. "Shouldn't take us long to drive there. I'll put new tires onto my car and Sam, _you_ can drive the Impala since your brother so responsibly drank himself into oblivion last night." Dean's lips twitched into a weak smile, somewhere between amused and guilty. "Shouldn't take me long to fix up the car, so be ready in a half hour." He sighed, "Sober up as much as you can, boys, you're gonna need it." He shot a despairing look at the two grasping their drinks and made his way out of the room, _what on Earth was he going to do with those two?_

Back in the living room, the silence hung like a bad smell between the three men before Dean spoke; "Remind me never to drink again." He mumbled, earning himself a quick hum of approval from Castiel, "I have to agree. It was nice while I couldn't feel anything but these after effects are… painful." He massaged his temple to try and soothe the pounding in his head.

"Sure," Sam agreed, "I'll remind you two before you go on another of your little _dates_." Dean's head shot up and he fixed Sam with a heated stare.

"'Date'?" Castiel echoed, confused. "Was it some special occasion? I didn't know, I – "

Dean sighed, interrupting, "No, Cas, Sam's just being a bitch."

"Shut it, Jerk." Sam laughed, "Cas, a date's what two people who like each other go on." He explained, Castiel looking to him perplexed.

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed, "Well, Dean and I are good friends –" he stopped when Sam spluttered a laugh into his sleeve.

Dean flushed red and cleared his throat; "Cas, that's not - y'know what? Nevermind. I'm gonna go get packed for this _frickin' _werewolf." He growled, storming out of the room to the sound of Sam's muffled laughter. The brat was going to pay for that later, he decided. _It wasn't a date._ First the Angels, now Sam – why did everyone think him and Cas had something going on?

His head pounded in protest at the implications and Dean stamped, defeated, up to him room.

* * *

Upon arrival in Jamestown, they pulled up in an alley by a block of apartments in the centre of town.

"Peter lives on the top floor of this building," Bobby gestured to the row at the peak of the complex, Sam, Dean and Cas all lifting their faces to the sky. "Please tell me there's an elevator." Dean mumbled.

The foursome made their way to the front entrance and Bobby pressed the last button on the dialling pad, a shrill ring coming from the speaker overhead before a click sounded, a gruff "Yeah?" drifting over their heads.

"Hey, Peter, its Bobby."

"Bobby Singer? Huh, didn't take you long. Good! Come on up, we got a few hours before the fun starts." The man's – Peter's – cynical tone stirred uneasiness in Sam who looked to Dean for reassurance, but Dean met his eyes with equal concern; Peter reminded them of Gordon, the obsessive Vampire hunter, right off the bat. Bobby turned just in time to witness the exchange; "Don't pull that face," he told them, stern but understanding. "We've all got our grievances with this job, aint we? Peter didn't exactly skip with the wind on his heels into this life." He gave them a look that said _"better not to ask"_ before entering the building, the sound of Peter buzzing them in ringing behind them as they followed in his wake.

Dean let out a sigh of relief as the welcome view of an elevator met them on the way in and headed straight for it. As he reached for the button to call it however, he was met with a note stuck tackily with sticky tape reading "Out of order" in scruffy, bold, red writing. He ripped it away from the wall and stared at it in disbelief before slamming it back down and grumpily making his way up the stairs followed by Sam who silently shared his displeasure.

All four men reached the top eventually, legs heavy as led and panting hard. "Please tell me not all apartment complexes share this method of transport." Castiel wheezed, Bobby smiling sympathetically in agreement at the ex-Angel who sat slumped on the floor. As if on cue a door creaked open at the opposite end of the hall and a man popped his head out. When he caught sight of the four leaning for support on the walls he let out a hearty laugh before calling them inside, introducing himself when he scanned across the unfamiliar faces. "The name's Peter Crawford. You boys need a drink or something?"

Sam, the healthiest of the four found his feet at the word "drink" and dragged his heavy legs up the corridor.

"Show off!" Dean called after him.

* * *

Peter's apartment was dark and shabby, the moth-eaten curtains drawn tightly, dust dancing in the light that beamed through the gaps. The air was thick, damp and cold and the smell of rain and old books hit with the force of a brick wall upon entry. Pages from various volumes were strewn across the grey carpet floor, worn and rough from the man pacing back and forth in the days he was alone. The fan on the ceiling swung round lazily, patches of damp clinging around it. Books perched precariously in every corner of the room, held upright in places with a well-placed chipped coffee mug. As Sam stepped into the room Peter warned him to watch his step and looking down he saw the devil's trap immediately in front of the entrance. Something told him that it wasn't drawn with simple red paint, the carpet black, rough, dry and flaking with the liquid that had been smothered hastily into it. Sam swallowed his growing alarm with the man and decided upon standing rather than sitting in the seat he was offered, watching as the same assumptions made themselves clear on the face of his brother who followed close after, his eyebrows knotting and eyes widening as he made his way into the room.

"Drink?" Peter asked, holding a grime-ridden glass up in offering to each of the men who all refused the beverage as politely as they could.

"So, uh, Peter – how've you been holding up lately?" Bobby asked, scanning around the room. The look that crossed upon his features told Sam that even he hadn't expected this of the man who stood tall in front of them, matching height with only the youngest Winchester who could look him in his tired eyes whenever he turned his head.

"I've been doing just fine, Bobby. This Werewolf, though - the bastard's got me running 'round on his tail for the last few days. He's sly." Peter laughed airily, narrowed his eyes and drew a long gulp from the glass the others hadn't claimed. Dean winced as he watched the man's adam's apple bob as the liquid passed down his throat and felt Castiel shift beside him.

Bobby cleared his throat into the silence that fell upon the room. "Have you got any leads?" He asked weakly, distracted.

"Oh!" The man lit up at the question and started manically sifting through the many stacks of paper on what Dean suspected was a desk. The man let out a triumphant "Aha!" and span to face his guests, holding up a limp piece of browning paper in his thick, scarred hands, his movements erratic.

He read the words printed upon it aloud: "The Jamestown Herald is saddened to report the death of the beloved librarian Mr. Thomas Hardwhick, who was found murdered in his home he shared with his wife, Mrs. Louise Hardwhick. Mr. Hardwhick was discovered this morning by his wife, dead in their kitchen in the early morning; His body was mutilated, large gashes along his face and heart missing. Police have yet to find the perpetrator but suspect it to be the work of some wild animal. The daughter of Mr. Hardwhick, Juliet, tells us the funeral will be held in a week's time and is open to all visitors who would like to pay their respects to the man who became a local familiar face through his 40 years managing our library. May he rest in peace."

Sam took the paper from the man cautiously, not wanting to alarm him and checked the date.

"There was a full moon, then. No doubt, it's a Werewolf." He confirmed, looking to Bobby to continue, not wanting to speak in the presence of the man more than he had to.

"Well, next full moon's in about two hours; Looks like we have our work cut out for us." Bobby sighed, rubbing his temple to soothe his head. "Peter, do you have any clue where this thing is?"

The man seemed to simmer to a halt, then. Looking directly at Bobby who stood by the covered window, his face twitched and contorted into one of pain.

"Bobby, I- I think I killed him." He choked, eyes filling to the brim with tears, confusing the rest of the room.

"You killed who, Peter?" Bobby asked, stepping forward to get a better look at the man. "If you've already killed the W-"

"I killed Mr. Hardwhick." He sobbed, façade of insanity dripping away from every inch of his body like water. Dean watched as the man in front of him collapsed into tears, eyes wide and confused. Sam, on the other hand understood immediately.

"Peter, when were you bitten?" He asked urgently, eyes flitting over the man's body for signs of a bite.

"Two months ago," he whispered, voice straining as his body convulsed with sobs of grief and fear, "I was bitten two months ago. I – I tried, and I tried but I couldn't find it, I couldn't find the _bastard_ that bit me. Please… Please, please, _please_, I need your help. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. Help me find him, _please." _The man begged, falling into the wall and sliding into a protective ball from the men who crowded around him.

Dean and Sam looked at each other instantly. They knew that killing the Werewolf that bit him wouldn't save him – trialled and tested. A wave of sadness washed over them as they remembered Maddison and how they'd had to kill her after she'd turned again and begged for release. Just like the man in front of them did.

They pulled Bobby aside and asked Castiel to keep an eye on the man, curled in the corner of the room, distraught, as they guided him out into the corridor and closed the door behind them.

"Bobby, what're we going to do? We can't just… shoot him here." Dean stated, feeling his chest tighten when he looked upon Bobby's pained face. He was going to have to shoot and kill one of his own friends.

"Well, we're not." He answered, eyes darting along the blank wall in front of them, searching for another option. "We're going to… We're gonna…" Bobby waffled as his mind dismissed any other option than putting a silver bullet in the man's heart. Sam and Dean looked on patiently.

Finally, pinching his nose, placing a hand on his hip and scrunching up his eyes Bobby let out a sigh that signalled he'd come to his conclusion and turned to face the door behind which his friend sat, lost, scared and confused.

"We'll give him an hour or so. That's all the time we can give." He said.

* * *

The atmosphere was heavy inside the apartment, the windows drawn back to reveal a broken window that whilst transformed Peter had smashed en route to the Hardwhick residence on the other side of town.

Castiel stood quietly, arms crossed, watching the deeply breathing man who sat before him on a dusty armchair they'd unearthed after they'd told him he had to die. Peter sat with his face buried in shaking hands as Sam and Dean scoured his apartment trying to focus their attention on anything other than what they'd have to do in a few moments time, the moon rising steadily outside. Bobby stood quietly by the arm of the chair, words of consolation worn out half an hour ago, when Balthazar appeared.

"Greetings," he smiled at them, ignoring the man who stared wide-eyed at him from his seat. "Castiel I have to speak with you. Mind if I whisk him away for a while, Dean?" He asked teasingly, purposely waiting for Dean to cave and give his permission as if Castiel were his property. After about a minute of heated silence and even hotter stares, Sam nudged Dean in the rib to coax him along, but just as Dean opened his mouth Bobby let out a cry and the sound of him fumbling with his gun, caught in his belt-buckle, was all that could be heard as a flash of pale skin and plaid fluttered into the air. They'd miscalculated the time.

Bobby fell to the floor, arm bleeding profusely as Peter, fully transformed, bounded out of the open window and crawled up the building onto the rooftop.

Sam ran to Bobby as Dean leapt out of the window and onto the fire escape, looking up just in time to see the denim of Peter's jeans pull over the ledge. "Stay here and fix him!" Sam instructed pleadingly to Balthazar, hoping he'd comply before dashing out of the window and following Dean onto the roof.

"That was unexpected." Balthazar mumbled, looking to Castiel who immediately pointed to Bobby who sat clutching his arm mumbling profanities. "So demanding." Balthazar quipped, slinking over to the man he hardly knew and healing his wounds with a touch.

* * *

In the moonlit apartment, empty now but for the two who stood in its centre, Balthazar told Castiel the news.

"I haven't come to tell you that we've found your Grace, yet, but I think it's something you ought to know." Balthazar began.

"What ought I know?" Castiel asked, eyes narrowing briefly.

"Heaven is a mess – and I mean pure chaos, but nothing a few others and I can't handle." He assured him. "The only problem so far is the knowledge that some Angels are targeting you. They think you're a liability and most of all they'd rather you didn't darken Heaven's doorway ever again." Balthazar hesitated when he saw the brief look of hurt flit across his brother's face as the information sank in but continued on after a brief pause - "Like it or not for them, though, more Angels are with you rather than against you. More have opted to _helping_ find your Grace than not." With that the tension from Castiel's shoulders seemed to ease off.

"We have a few leads but nothing substantial, but don't worry your pretty little head over it because we're making more progress now." He concluded.

Castiel gave the man an appreciative smile and thanked him before he took his leave.

Alone now, Castiel stood for a while and ran the information through his mind once more. _He was being hunted. Some didn't want him, more did. They were making progress. They were going to find his Grace._ The comforting thought brought a smile to his face but he was quickly snapped out of it.

Dean's voice echoed in his ears before becoming clear. "Cas, _move!_" He called.

Castiel turned, suddenly finding himself on a rooftop, Dean and Sam hanging from the fire escape on the neighbouring building. He spun around hearing a gurgling behind him and saw Peter, blood oozing from his chest and pouring from the corner of his mouth, running straight for him.

The man fell into him, drained of life, and Castiel's heel slipped over the ledge.

A blood-curdling thud ripped through the deafening silence as Castiel hit the floor.

* * *

**Author's note: quickly updating because the inspiration for this chapter hit me like a train! Things got pretty serious pretty fast, I know. Sorry!**


	4. Denial

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked, sceptical of the bravado-fuelled reply he was already sure was going to pour from his brother's mouth like verbal vomit just as it had the countless times he'd asked the same question in the last two days.

"Doin' just fine, Sammy." He replied, plastic smile gracing his features, eyes dull and dark circles hanging low underneath. He hadn't slept since Castiel was driven into North Dakota State Hospital, broken and bleeding after the fall that'd left him in the bed in front of them, hooked up to various machines, eyes closed and deaf in a comatose state.

The doctors had said it was a miracle he hadn't died on impact, but Sam knew that this news was far from unheard of with Castiel; Miracles where he was concerned were commonplace.

Dean virtually hadn't moved from his seat stationed by the bedside and waved away any means to draw him from the room courtesy of Bobby and Sam, just as he repelled the nursing staff who tried to move him with sheer force of facial expression and body language. Every inch of him screamed "_Keep away_" in the company of a stranger and he emitted the presence of someone fit to murder anyone who tried to harm the man lying beside him.

Sam reckoned his protectiveness was justified, considering someone had just tried to kill him.

Dean had summoned Balthazar before he'd taken his place by Castiel's side, who was distraught upon hearing the news and pleaded innocence. "Why in the world would I do that, you _fucking_ _idiot!_" He'd shouted when he finally became tired of Dean's frenzied accusations, explaining how just seconds before the accident Balthazar had left Castiel alone in the empty apartment after informing him of the hypothetical bounty on his head; The Angels who were hunting him weren't getting any reward for doing this but a sense of self-worth in crushing the "Angel that rebelled."

After hearing that, Dean had been wary of every person who passed by the open doorway.

* * *

Castiel sat in the dark, hands entwined and legs crossed, sitting in the middle of oblivion. He let out a sigh and looked around him, lost for things to occupy himself with as he waited in his own mind; waited to wake up.

After what might've been a minute or a second after he'd expelled all the air from his lungs, his ears pricked to the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked frantically around into the black that engulfed him, seemingly infinite, until he rested on the sight of Balthazar coolly stepping towards him, strangely illuminated in the darkness.

"You have _the_ worst imagination, Brother." Balthazar said in greeting, Castiel standing up to face him. "You know, you could give yourself something to do by using that human head of yours."

"Balthazar, you have to heal me already. I'm getting impatient." Castiel sighed.

Balthazar's eyes widened a touch "Straight to business as always, I see." He mumbled, leaning in close before breathing a quick "Not yet," then drawing back. "I'm going to have some fun, first, I think." He laughed before leaving Castiel to himself.

Castiel stood for a while, perplexed and irritated.

_What was fun about him_ _being comatose_?

* * *

The amount of pressure Dean put himself under, watching over Castiel as he lay injured and vulnerable on the bed in front of him, was something he found incredibly surprising. The only time he'd felt this need to _protect_ had always and only been focused on Sam, but now he found himself sitting tired yet restless with the same intensity of feeling for the Angel who'd lifted him out of the depth of Hell as for the brother he'd grown up with and practically raised.

He couldn't decide whether it was because he thought of Castiel as a brother, or because he thought he owed him as much or because he considered the man something a notch above the "Brother" classification; Something he didn't care to think about right now; Something that'd tell Dean _why _he'd been so taken with the man in the last few days - letting him sleep on him, spending hours stargazing alone, even entertaining the idea of sleeping in close quarters when there was a perfectly comfortable couch downstairs and now caring so much he risked his health, even when the probability that the man he'd so come to fuss over die was close to nil.

He couldn't even begin to mull over the times he'd stopped himself before he reached out to grasp the man's hand; just to reassure himself he was there- that he was alive.

This was becoming a problem.

"Well, you seem deep in thought. That's rare." Balthazar joked from the corner of the room, seemingly materialising out of thin air. Dean jerked his head up, momentarily surprised but calming when he laid eyes on the Angel.

"Coming to shout at me again?" He scoffed, a little ashamed by his earlier act of relentless finger pointing, but not willing to issue an apology.

"No, actually, don't be so full of yourself." The Angel replied, giving him a look of mock distaste. Dean smiled weakly at the aimless banter and rubbed his dry eyes, blinking wildly, discreetly clearing his throat as he sank deeper into his seat, limbs stiff from lack of movement. All the while Balthazar kept watchful eyes on him.

"So, Dean… Been here since the accident?" Balthazar asked.

Dean looked up at him, suspicious. _Why was he asking?_ "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," Balthazar began, unfolding his arms and stretching out his fingers before letting them swing to his sides. "That's not healthy, is it? I mean, Sam and Bobby care _just _as much, but they're not sitting here like a mother hen."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What're you getting at?" He was becoming uneasy under the man's teasing gaze and leaned back in his seat, moving his body away from Castiel, suddenly hyperaware of how close he'd actually been, the length of his forearm formerly centimetres away, parallel to Cas'.

"I'm just saying, Dean, you care more for the guy than anyone would expect; you being on the straight and narrow." Balthazar raised a suggestive eyebrow as Dean rested his gaze on him.

"_Excuse me?_" He growled.

"Oh, nothing, nothing…" Balthazar dismissed the look of growing contempt that rose like a flame in the man's eyes. Quite content with his little game of pay-back, he continued towards his finale.

"Y'know, this whole scene reminds me of that children's fairytale," Dean's eyes widened in horror, "the one with Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty?" Balthazar gave him a badly disguised grin and Dean felt his insides turn. _Oh no._

"Balthazar, this isn't a joke. Fix him-"

"I'll fix him when you act out the story." Balthazar savoured the look of panic that swept across the hunter's features. Everything about him asked the Angel why he was doing this; the answer was simple - It was funny and he'd rather not go back to the train-wreck that was Heaven when there was such entertainment to be had on his father's beautiful blue planet.

"This is ridiculous." Dean mumbled, rubbing his hand down his face to disguise the creeping blush that threatened to show, standing up from his seat which took more effort than he'd anticipated. _I need to sleep, _he told himself dryly.

Balthazar watched as Dean lifted his hands to the back of his head, looking around cautiously. _Wait, was he actually going to do it?_ Balthazar stood stock still, watching – he'd expected more of an argument.

Dean let out a quick breath before sucking it back in. _Only people comfortable with their sexuality could do this, man, you can do this, you're not gay_, he reassured himself as he steadily leaned over the sleeping man, mentally preparing himself for any backlash this potentially caused his rioting mind. _You can do this._

Balthazar stood wide-eyed as Dean leaned over Castiel, removing the oxygen mask that covered his lips, coming face-to-face, before Balthazar slyly tapped the unconscious man's wrist.

Dean watched in horror, barely an inch away from carrying out Balthazar's _stupid_ trick, as Castiel's eyes fluttered open and bore right into him. _Oh…Shit. _He recoiled as quickly as he could, slammed himself up against the wall - trying to act as if he wasn't a second away from _kissing a man_ - and glared, beyond angry, at the smug face of the Angel stood opposite him.

"Didn't know you cared so much, Dean!" Balthazar laughed, pleased with himself before flickering out of sight.

"_Son of a bitch!_" Dean cursed, unaware of the questioning gaze that met him from the hospital bed.

"Dean, did you need something?" Castiel asked innocently, raising himself up on the bed, removing the oxygen mask completely and fumbling with tubes and wires he wasn't quite sure were for.

"_Man's like a fucking Tricks_- uh, no- No! I didn't need… anything, Cas. Forget it." Dean fidgeted with his jacket before brusquely exiting the room, mumbling something about needing a drink as Castiel watched him leave, puzzled – _Did I do something wrong? _He wondered.

* * *

Successfully smuggling the miraculously-cured man out of the hospital was a swift process and after packing up their things from the motel room they'd rented for a short stay, the four were soon on the road back to Sioux Falls.

Sam drove, Bobby in the passenger's seat and Castiel and Dean sat in the back at opposite ends of the car.

"Cas," Sam said, getting the man's attention.

"What is it?" Castiel replied from the seat behind Bobby, leaning across to Sam so he could hear him better, much to Dean's dismay - he'd been close enough than he was comfortable with to the man today. Dean shuffled discreetly further towards the door and busied his eyes with the uneventful scenery that passed by his window. Castiel registered this but didn't comment.

"You think if you got those Enochian sigils like we have, you'd be a bit safer? The Angel's wouldn't be able to find you and looking for your Grace would be easier. Less distractions." The youngest Winchester suggested.

Castiel nodded his agreements before slinking back into his seat, ignoring the blatant release of tension from the man across from him. "I suppose Balthazar could inscribe the sigils into my ribs." He remarked airily, eyes drifting to the landscape rushing past his window.

"Right," Sam breathed, watching his brother closely in the wing-mirror noting how quiet he was. He hadn't been right since they'd gotten Castiel out of the hospital, "We'll summon Balthazar when we get back to Bobby's." He turned to Bobby, who hummed his agreement, still distracted from the hunt they'd driven out for. If Sam hadn't looked to Bobby then, there was no doubt he would've noticed the look of mild anger sweep across his brother's features at the mention of 'Balthazar'.

* * *

"I'm going to bed." Dean stated curtly upon entry into the house, taking the steps two at a time and slamming the door to his room. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips, a bit fed up with his brother's mood swings lately before scanning over Castiel's concerned expression and relaxing. He didn't need to worry. Cas worried enough for the both of them, clearly.

* * *

"Dean?"

"Oh, for _fuck _sake."

Dean huddled into his pillows and ignored Castiel, who placed himself on the side of the bed. The ex-Angel wrung his hands together and continued to sit even when Dean ignored him. Underneath the pillows however, Dean glared into the darkness, angry and confused. Angry he'd been tricked by that _bastard _Balthazar, who might as well have been following in his dear brother Gabriel's slash Demi-God Trickster, manipulative douche-bag's footsteps and confused as to _why in the hell_ he so readily agreed to kiss the man perched behind him. He clutched the pillow tighter, ready to suffocate himself if need be and especially if Castiel didn't leave him to sleep.

_Must be going out of my mind with exhaustion_, he told himself bitterly; then cursing himself again when he remembered the reason he'd subjected himself to sleepless nights.

"Dean, are you feeling unwell?" Castiel asked eventually, turning slightly to try and look at the body behind him but turned away when he didn't want to move the mattress.

"I'm _fine_, Cas. Go away." Dean replied venomously, voice muffled under the layer of feather pillow.

Silence again.

It was stifling.

All Castiel wanted to do was fly away from this place, from the awkward air that had hung around the two since he'd woken at the hospital to find Dean mere millimetres away, but - finding himself powerless and human - he saw no other option than to face whatever Dean's problem was head on. He couldn't shake the feeling he was somehow responsible.

_Why was he acting like this?_

"If I've done something to offend you, I'm sorry; and I know I didn't react fast enough when-" Castiel, responding to the pillow being swung in his direction lifted up his arms in defence, but failed miserably when the pillow hit him square in the face. Expecting the man to have blocked the assault, Dean sat up, stunned for a moment at his own outburst before breaking out into spontaneous laughter at his friend's blank expression.

Castiel sat for a moment, taken aback by the outburst himself before his lips twitched into a pleased yet confused half-smile, watching as Dean dropped back onto the mattress and swung an arm over his eyes.

"I can't believe you'd apologise for _falling off of a building_, Cas." He sighed, forgetting his earlier turmoil. This man was so clueless he wouldn't understand the meaning of the kiss if he had gone through with it and he clearly hadn't picked up on the intention when he'd woken to find him so close. There was no reason to be so humiliated by his little slip-up; the aftermath was just misdirected confusion he'd channelled into anger with the poor man. "It doesn't matter, I was being stupid." He voiced aloud.

Castiel cocked his head owlishly, looking out of the window in front of him. "Being 'stupid' about what, Dean?"

Dean breathed another bout of laughter. "Like I said, it's nothing." He removed his arm from atop his face to pat his confused companion consolingly on the shoulder, before dropping it back over his eyes, shading them from the setting sun that streamed through the open curtains.

Nothing was said for a while, but Castiel didn't leave.

The silence stretched on.

"Dude, if you're not gonna leave you might as well lie down." Dean groaned, glad he'd finally put his mind at ease but becoming increasingly disturbed by the eerie quiet.

A few seconds passed before the mattress shifted and Dean felt the fabric of Cas' shirt brush against his side. Alarmed, he lifted his arm and turned his head, only to have the familiar mess of unruly brown hair brush against his nose.

Castiel was close.

_Really close._

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, the little gay crisis he'd just happily disposed of rushing back to him with a vengeance. "Uh, C-Cas I was joking when I said… Lie down… Uh…" He was speechless, his thoughts urging him to just hug the man, at least. He ignored it.

"Oh, right, apologies." Castiel replied innocently, beginning to raise himself from the bed and take his leave.

Dean couldn't understand why he did it, but before the man could move any further away he caught him by the shoulder and told him to stay.

"No, it's fine. Lie down if you want." He said, as casually as he could manage in light of the whole situation.

Dean watched for a moment as Castiel seemed to consider the offer before finally laying himself back down. "If you become uncomfortable, just say and I'll leave." He reassured him before twisting onto his side, his back to Dean who didn't answer him, choosing to just stay quiet until he understood what he was doing.

_Okay, so I just invited a fallen Angel to sleep with me- No, no, not _sleep_ with me, sleep next to me. Yeah that's it. It's fine. It's platonic. We're friends, no harm done. It's all good, Winchester, it's all fine. Everything's just… just awesome._ Dean's facial expressions throughout the exchange with himself contorted in reply to his consciousness reassuring him it was all A-OK. Luckily for him, Castiel was already fast asleep, breath coming slowly and deep.

Eventually, losing track of time and eyes becoming heavy, Dean didn't register when he shifted closer in search of the heat emitting from Castiel's back in a barely conscious daze, arm and leg curling round the man like Dean did to his covers in his sleep, sprawling himself across any source of warmth he could find before drifting off into a comfortable slumber

* * *

The whoosh of the breeze in the quiet spring air was soon followed by a dainty plopping sound as the bait sank beneath the surface of the water. Dean sat back on the familiar deckchair by the lake that he'd dreamt of once before, enjoying the cool warmth of the sun beating down through the pale sky and waited to catch a bite.

When the familiar sound of fluttering wings and rushing air met his ears, he turned half expecting Castiel to be standing beside him as he'd done the time before; His face dropped however, when he was met with Balthazar's smug features glancing down on him. Balthazar broke into a grin when he saw the look of distaste pass by the Winchester's features.

"Y'know what? Screw you, Balthazar." Was his immediate reaction, turning back to the still, calm lake.

Balthazar barked a laugh – "Calm down, it was only a joke."

"Yeah well you've had your jollies, now get lost."

"Ooh, still bitter are we? You're the one who so _willingly_-"

"Just… Shut your trap for once, okay, feather-ass?" Dean grumbled, cutting the Angel off mid-sentence to save the crippled remains of his pride for the day.

"_You're just mad I woke him up before you had the chance._" Balthazar muttered, voice barely above the volume of a whisper.

Hearing every word, Dean had half a mind to slam his fishing rod into the man's stomach, the urge to assault him steadily rising in his chest with each unnecessary comment about his unfortunate lapse in judgement.

He let out a steady breath to calm himself. "What're you here for?"

"I'm here to talk about Castiel's little incident. Oh, and to see your handiwork; you have a lovely little imagination, Dean." Balthazar replied, gesturing to the calming waters, baby blue sky, healthy green trees sprouting behind them and the faint sepia overtone to it all, like an old photograph.

"Yeah, I'm…uh, very proud." Dean mumbled. "What is it about Castiel?" he asked, drawing his focus to the man stood idly beside him.

"Well, to start off, I myself and a few others soon caught up with our culprit. It was Virgil; he'd followed me due to my_ tampering_ with his weapons collection. When he'd laid eyes on Castiel you could say he just thought "Why not?" and put him on that rooftop; anything to bump himself up a rank, I guess."

Dean gave Balthazar a hard stare, momentarily pinning the blame on the Angel for the whole fiasco before it dawned on him that he couldn't have anticipated the other being's actions. He sank further into his chair, turning his attentions back to fishing for fish he wasn't even sure were there.

"Anything else?" He asked.

"We've made little progress on finding Cas' Grace, so no - nothing much else to report." was Balthazar's reply.

Dean's heart sank a bit at that; he knew how much Castiel wanted, _needed_, his Grace back.

Witnessing the flash of disappointment on Dean's face, Balthazar smirked and breathed in an audible gulp of air. "Dean," he began, somewhat ponderously "what really baffles me about you, is… How completely _dense_ you are."

Dean snapped his head round to fix the man with a glare. _What was he getting at, now?_ The curiosity soon wore off, however; after the day he'd had, Dean found himself unable to care anymore.

"And why is that, Balthazar? Why don't you shower me with your wondrous in-depth knowledge of Dean Winchester." He drawled, looking out across the lake again, quite sick of the Angel.

"Oh, well since you asked!" Balthazar replied, mock excitement dripping from his equally sarcastic tone. "Let us begin with the thorough study of the point: _Dean Winchester is in denial of the fact he is in love with the fallen Angel, Castiel and they are huddled up quite intimately on the former's bed as we speak._"

Dean shot up from his seat, beet red. _He wasn't, was he? He could be._ "Bye-bye, Dean!" Balthazar waved at him, all cutesy, before ripping out of sight.

Dean stood for a moment, letting it all sink in.

_He couldn't be snuggling with Castiel right now._

_He just couldn't be._

"I've gotta wake up!" He shouted at himself urgently, hearing his own voice echo off the walls of his mind.

* * *

**Author's note: Things are moving along now! We have Dean unintentionally making moves on the man whilst stuck in denial; It's all good. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Do leave a review if you have time - I'd love to know your thoughts and expectations for the oncoming chapters!**


	5. Comeuppance

This was bad.

Really bad.

He was asleep, apparently wrapped around Castiel in an "intimate" position and for the life of him he couldn't wake up. Balthazar must be looming over him right now, beaming from ear to ear and pressing his grubby fingers to his forehead to knock him out; Dean nearly screamed with frustration at the image.

He tried everything; willing himself awake, pinching himself, he even full on winded himself before deciding it was his last option to launch into the lake and shock himself awake in the cold waters, but nothing worked.

_This can't be happening_, he thought, bringing the heels of his palms up to his eyes and rubbing them furiously in a last attempt to melt back into reality. He'd had enough ridiculing himself for his actions in the past 24 hours and he could live without the sly judgemental looks, the suggestive eyebrows and barely disguised giggles from Sam if he found him like that, asleep and snuggling with his friend – his _best friend_, even. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming against his eardrums as his face lit up with embarrassment, heat creeping along his cheeks.

Within seconds, however, Dean's dream landscape turned to black and his eyelids burst apart, watery green eyes coming to rest on coal-coloured fabric taking up his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a bark of mocking laughter to fill the room like a gun shot at any moment, but he soon opened his eyes again when the laughter never came. He lifted his head up from what he was ashamed to say was the crook of Castiel's neck – his face originally buried in his shoulder – and scanned the room, untangling himself from the dead-weight beside him. Castiel still very much asleep, Dean rolled onto his back and dipped his head over the edge of the mattress, making sure Sam wasn't hiding anywhere to jump out and spontaneously throw a coming out party for him. When he lay his head back down on his cold pillow, he blew out a shaky breath of air. _Close one_.

He lay for a while and watched the dust float through patches of sun seeping through the curtains like actors competing for a spotlight before it even occurred to him it would be considered a good idea to drag himself and Castiel out of bed and downstairs to call on Balthazar. His mind curled around the Angel's name like a boa constrictor would its prey and he hissed a few curses in contempt before catching himself looking over to the sleeping man beside him.

Castiel was on his side, clad in a plain charcoal coloured T-shirt and navy jeans which both belonged to Dean; the ex-Angel had been anxious about changing his attire and looking at him now he seemed almost naked without his trademark tan trench coat gracing his broad shoulders. Looking over his skin which had taken on a sickly hue since becoming human, it now looked healthy again, his – well, Jimmy's – initial tan stretching over prominent veins and the odd scar or scab along his forearm caused by his fall dotted his elbow and neck that Dean could see. _Balthazar did a shabby job_, he thought. Gaze hovering over the steady rise and fall of his chest it rested on his peaceful features; Dean saw the familiar shadow of a beard around chapped lips, covering a strong jaw-line and for the first time the thickness of Castiel's eyelashes seemed to spring out at him – it might've been the light, but even the shadows they caused stretched like an Angel's wings across his cheeks in the soft glow of the room. Dean's absentminded exploration of the man ended as he breathed a quiet laugh at the constant state of disarray the man's hair seemed to be stuck in, lifting a hand to flatten the locks of thick, dark-brown-bordering-on-black hair above his ear.

Awakening at the touch, Castiel swivelled round to look at Dean who appeared to be looming over him. Dean waited, motionless, for the accusations of being in love with his friend from the man himself, realising just how absurdly feminine he was being admiring the man while he slept and wincing at how utterly_ strange_ that sounded in his own head as the object of his supposed affection's questioning stare bore into him. Apprehensive and suddenly feeling quite sick, Dean burrowed his hand into the white sheets ready to rip them away and make a run for it if anything painfully awkward were to occur; all the while Castiel's blank gaze didn't waver.

"What time is it?" Cas croaked eventually, dismissing the whole tense atmosphere and scanning around the room for some sort of time-piece.

Dean felt his chest tighten at the sound of his voice, but the innocent question calmed him. He swallowed his worries and manoeuvred himself round to read the illuminated numbers on his mobile. "Been asleep for the whole night, it's half seven." He breathed, untangling himself from the sheets, one side still trapped under Castiel's weight and swinging his legs over the side before it dawned on him he was only in a vest and boxers. Disguising his initial panic, he nonchalantly reached for the covers which wouldn't budge to cover him. "Cas, get up." He instructed, coughing to disguise the humiliated tinge in his voice. The ex-Angel complied and a quiet tap sounded on the floorboards as Castiel swung his legs round and stood, walking over to the door.

"I'm going to go see Sam about summoning Balthazar. Are you coming?" He asked, turning to face him just slow enough so that Dean could cover his lower half with the free sheets.

"I'll be down in a sec." He answered, omitting the _"I need to get dressed"_ part, considering the man hadn't seemed to notice his lack of clothing at all. Suddenly being struck by the notion _we're both men. Why am I so freaked? _Dean dropped his eyes to the floor.

Lifting his hand to his forehead, the _click_ of Castiel shutting the door behind him inspired a colourful string of words to pour from Dean's mouth as he twisted in mild disgust at his own actions. _What the hell was he doing, watching the guy sleeping? Was he some love-sick high-school girl, suddenly?_

"Son of a _bitch_." He growled, letting out a lengthily groan of frustration into his hands.

* * *

Padding into the kitchen, Dean was met with a questioning look from Sam immediately.

"What're you lookin' at?" He growled defensively.

Sam snorted and raised his eyebrows before turning back to his laptop. "Nothing." He answered in a mocking sing-song voice.

"Boys," Bobby's voice rang from his basement "Got him."

Dean twitched involuntarily at the idea of coming face-to-face with Balthazar again but swallowed his discontent to follow Sam down the rickety steps into the dark cellar. Both Dean and Sam brought their hands to shield their eyes as they set foot on the ground, a bright light and the familiar sound of burning and scraping mixing in the air followed by a restrained grunt of pain told them Balthazar had swiftly went about engraving the protective sigils into Castiel's ribs. Looking up again, Dean was met with Castiel leaning back on a desk which was covered in tools and books alike for support, clutching his chest, a look of pain, although well-disguised, on his face. The room was silent as he dismissed a long breath as the pain subsided.

"My work is done?" Balthazar asked, lifting his arms to welcome any answer that may barrel his way.

"We didn't even a -" Bobby started, astonished the man had gone through with the act the moment he'd set foot in the underground room without being asked.

"I assumed this is what you would call me for next. Admittedly not expecting it so soon, but you must be on the ball today." He offered them a smile which was met with steel faces. "Right, I have to go," he began, offering Castiel a friendly pat on the shoulder "I'll be in touch. Toodles." And with that he was gone.

Dean wasn't sure whether he was overwhelmingly pleased they didn't make eye contact or peeved that he'd literally dropped in for mere seconds. "What the hell was that?" He laughed, incredulous.

"Maybe he was busy?" Sam offered, lopsidedly shrugging his shoulders, just glad the Angel hadn't caused any unnecessary trouble – he'd had enough of his brother and the man in the same room after their bust-up at the hospital.

There was a groan from the corner of the room before Cas spoke, "It must be anarchy in Heaven, Balthazar won't have much spare time to do menial tasks such as this. We're lucky he even showed up." He propped himself up with help from the table and began gaining back his composure, breathing deeply. He winced a bit when his breath caught and a sharp pain ran through his side; he hadn't expected it to hurt so much.

If anything, he wasn't used to pain.

Mortality was so _frustrating._

* * *

Castiel's pet peeves inflicted a sour mood on him throughout the day; from things like dropping the salt for the salt rounds, burning toast, spilling his drink – the little things – everything was striking a tense chord with him and he was reaching his last nerve, so when he knocked a few books off of Bobby's book shelf it was extremely plausible he would go and knife some poor bastard - _Probably himself_, Dean reckoned grimly, watching the ex-Angel sigh heavily and reach for the books he hadn't managed to catch in a flurry of panic.

"Hey, Cas?"

"What is it?"

Dean furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the man's shoulders visibly drop.

"It doesn't matter." He steered around offering to help, not wanting to make the man feel more helpless than he most likely already did.

"No, what is it? What were you going to say?" Castiel grumbled, stubborn persistence colouring his voice like ink in water.

"Hey," Dean retaliated, picking up on it "I was only going to offer a hand, don't get pissy." He grumbled.

The two sat for a while, saying nothing. Castiel continuing to pick up the books and order them back into the packed bookshelf, leaving only one in his hands when he was done.

"Which book you got there?" Dean asked quietly, cautious of getting snapped at again. When he cocked his head to get a better sight of the volume Cas held in his hands, he felt his heart sink when the familiar black leather of a copy of the Holy Bible came into view. Before he could say anything, Castiel stuffed the book haphazardly onto the shelf. "Nothing." Castiel replied, eyes avoiding Dean's as he made his way to the couch and laid back his head as he sank into the cushions.

Looking over to him, Dean was reminded of the night Castiel had come down the stairs after having a nightmare and the same hopeless, tormented expression was written all over his face.

Adopting a resolve, Dean wasn't just going to switch on the TV this time.

"Cas, do you know how to drive?" He ventured, Castiel turning his head to fix his with a perplexed stare.

"Don't ask stupid questions – of course I don't. Why would I ever need to?" He answered bitterly.

Dean let the tone go this time. "Gotta get places somehow, man, and now you're livin' the mortal life I think you should learn." He smiled at him hopefully and got a half-smile in return. _Maybe this'd cheer him up? _Dean called out for Sam and Bobby, to check if they'd gone out and was met with silence. He sat for a minute – _Were there any other cars?_

"Get off your ass, we need to go find Bobby's car." Dean instructed, giving his companion a quick tap with the back of his hand on the leg before standing up and making his way to the front door.

"Bobby's?" Castiel piped up from the sofa before slowly removing himself from his seat, "Why Bobby's?"

"'Cause I think Sammy and Bobby have gone out… somewhere; probably taken the Impala." Dean answered, swinging his jacket over his shoulders and walking out into the yard. Castiel followed sluggishly behind, closing the door after him.

* * *

The cup clinked when it came back in contact with the tough diner table and Bobby breathed a sigh of relief as his energy came rushing back to him thanks to the caffeine in the coffee Sam had offered to treat him to when they'd arrived.

"You been feelin' okay, Bobby? Y'know, since Peter…" Sam asked carefully, not wanting to upset the man he looked up to as a father. Bobby fixed him with a weary look and a smile.

"I'm fine, son." He sighed, leaning back into his seat. "It's all part of the job… You either choose it or you get dragged in kicking and screaming, it's no different for how you leave this damned lifestyle, neither. Peter was young. Makes you wonder how an old geezer like me's still doin' breathin', huh?" He offered a small laugh in the face of the harsh reality of a hunter's life, the cruel injustice of it all. "We've all had our excessive share of tragedy."

Sam gave him a brief tight-lipped smile at this in agreement. No-one got a break.

"No use dwelling on it, though." Bobby said after a brief reflective pause, giving Sam an encouraging nod when he saw the resigned look on his face. To be so young and to have faced the deaths of so many of his loved ones, Bobby couldn't even begin to comprehend the turmoil tearing away at the youngest Winchester's heart. The guilt, pain, resentment… but looking at him now, there was still hope for a happy future for both of his boys – new addition Castiel included.

_Speaking of Castiel…_

"Hey, Sam… You noticed anything _weird_ goin' on between Dean and Cas?" He asked, changing the subject completely, earning himself a quick reaction from the man sitting opposite him; Sam sat up, interest piqued.

"Yeah, I have, actually." He admitted, hiding a sly grin that was forming quickly on his bright features. "Cas' been off ever since we boxed Lucifer, but Dean's just started acting up. It's kind of funny – he's all defensive, protective and flustered whenever Cas' around. I think Dean's encountered a bit of a crisis, if you know what I mean." Sam gave a suggestive rise of his eyebrows as he lifted his coffee to his lips, smirking before the liquid passed down his throat. Bobby gave a gruff laugh in return.

"Let's hope Dean doesn't screw it up."

"You and me both."

Balthazar's usually cocky tone had turned quick and forced as he uttered the words from beside Sam who jolted at his sudden appearance and spilled his coffee. "Speaking of Dean and Castiel, _where are they?_" He asked severely.

Sam looked to him, noticing his knotted eyebrows and tight expression. "They're not here?" He ventured, hoping playing it lightly wouldn't anger the Angel who seemed a bit distressed.

Balthazar let out a suppressed cry of frustration. "_I never should have branded that bastard!_"

* * *

Castiel briskly walked around the corner of Bobby's home and met Dean by the car, broad smile plastered on his face.

"What's got you so hyped?" Dean asked, smiling uneasily when he laid eyes on the uncharacteristic grin plastered on the ex-Angel's face; _wasn't he ready to top himself just a minute ago? _

"It's nothing," Castiel replied, propping himself up on the bonnet of the car and looking out onto the horizon. "Think we could do this tomorrow?" He asked, patting the metal.

"Uh, yeah… Sure." Dean nodded, slightly disappointed; but he had a point – it was getting dark and letting a newbie drive Bobby's car in the night was just pining for a death sentence at the hands of the old drunk.

The two made their way back into the warm confines of the living room and Cas plopped himself back into his prior seat on the sofa, reaching for the remote and switching on the TV before turning to Dean who stood still in the doorway, watching him; _Since when did Cas learn to work the TV manually? _He zoned back in, meeting Castiel's gaze before asking "Want a drink?" and indicating to the fridge. Castiel speedily agreed, the eager 'yes' spilling from his mouth like a gunshot.

Dean spent a few moments in the kitchen before emerging with two bottles of beer, handing one to Cas as he took a seat next to him, Castiel grabbing the drink from his hands with unusual greed. "Cheers." Dean tipped the neck of the bottle towards the man who tapped his bottle against it with social ease, smiling as he did it before turning back to the television and tipping the liquid into his mouth.

Upon swallowing, Castiel let out a cry and spluttered, beer slipping back up his throat along with the tell-tale hiss and smoke that came with a demon consuming holy water. Dean immediately took action, pinning the man down on the sofa, finding his wrists and pulling them above his head, straddling his hips and constricting his legs with his own in one fluid motion. Gaining control over himself again, the demon spoke, Castiel's familiar voice laced with demonic intent: "Aww, dang. That transparent?" the thing giggled, almost gleefully.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, you asshole? Get out of him right now." Dean growled, face inches away as he stretched over the couch to hold the possessed's wriggling hands as far away as possible. He stared into Castiel's eyes, which seemed to have taken on a foreign spark.

"Nu-uh, sweetie. It's quite cosy in here." The demon spat.

Momentarily lost for words in a fit of mute anger, Dean briefly loosened his grip intending to punch the hell-spawn; a wave of hesitation shook him – he couldn't bring himself to hurt him, the all too familiar face again only centimetres away. Seizing the opportunity the demon slipped his hand through his fingers and a sharp elbow made painful contact with Dean's right shoulder, propelling him off of the edge of the couch, demon following after him, looming over him as he crashed to the floor.

Their situation had done a complete one-eighty, the demon mimicking their early position but this time_ they_ were the one in control. Dean didn't stop trying to twist free, although the friction between his wrists was causing some bleeding where the skin had torn – nevertheless he couldn't give up. _He _needed_ to exorcise this bastard._

"Get off of me." Dean warned, foreboding seemingly seeping from his pores as he stared down the demon perched on top of him.

"Nah," the demon sang, "I'm only one of many – gotta look a gift horse in the mouth, y'know? Take my chances, get my little_ revenge_."

"One of many _what_?" Dean growled in response, shifting under Castiel's weight in an attempt to free himself.

"A lot of demons have their grievances with this piece of shit Angel," the demon sneered venomously, glazed black eyes staring down at Dean, smirk gracing well-known features. "Just lucky for me I was in the area when Mr. Mortality whisked 'round the corner. C'mon, Dean – _kill me_." In a burst of confidence the demon dragged Dean's hand along with his own to rest in front of Dean's face, revealing a binding link etched into his wrist. Dragging his arm back above his head the demon let out a low cackle of sorts before mercilessly ramming his forehead into the bridge of Dean's nose, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

Upon waking, Dean found himself bound and gagged on the couch in Bobby's living room, face buried into the musty-smelling cushions. He could hardly breathe. Clumsily flipping himself over onto his back he rocked as well as he could on the curve of his shoulder, wrists tied uncomfortably to his ankles and digging into the lumpy material beneath him, gathering enough momentum so he could pull himself upright. Upon achieving that goal, he set to work trying to untie his wrists when the possessed Castiel wandered back in, not even bothering to disguise himself, eyes pitch black and bug-like in their glimmer.

"Aww, Sleeping Beauty's awake, how precious." Dean glared at the man as he slid the gag away from his lips, the taste of iron filling his mouth from his bloody nose.

"Fuck you." Dean sneered.

"Oh, that potty-mouth is going to get you into trouble, Winchester." The demon snapped back, roughly pulling the gag down over his neck, the friction burning the skin. Dean steeled himself to it and didn't take his gaze away from the two black abysses pointed at him; all he wanted to do was _rip_ the demon right out of him.

"Your stare is so _intense_, gettin' a bit hot under the collar here, big boy." The demon teased, grabbing a hold of Dean's broken nose and pulling his head from side to side like a mother would her child. Dean winced, searing pain emitting from the pressure on the broken bone. "Y'know if I weren't so impatient I might sit and tease you s'more but there's bigger fish to fry – namely this Angel's vessel. Poor baby's trapped in it for now… Let me put him out of his misery." He mused, more to himself than Dean as he produced a large kitchen knife, brandishing it and inspecting it almost lovingly – twisting it as it shone in the dim light from the lamp. He turned the knife on himself and Dean watched on in horror as he tested the blade on his forearm. "Nice and sharp." He smiled to himself.

"Don't you dare," Dean warned, eyeing up the knife as it ghosted over Castiel's neck, afraid to move as the only way to go was forward, driving the knife right into the flesh.

Dean was petrified; _what if this bastard actually slit Cas' throat? What would he do? Castiel would die. Jimmy would die. Balthazar couldn't heal him if he's dead._

"_Tsk_, c'mon, Dean. Don't spoil the fun."

Before the demon could plunge the knife through Cas' neck, literally millimetres away, Balthazar, Bobby and Sam were on the scene. Sam caught the demon's arm, tearing the knife away from the flesh and twisted it behind his back, Balthazar emerging from the side, laying a hand on Cas' forehead as Bobby caught Dean's face in his hands and made him turn to face him.

In the seconds it took for Balthazar to kill the Demon, the light illuminated the tears in Dean's eyes for Bobby to see. Dean had been scared, helpless - terrified he was going to lose Castiel in such a simple way; possessed and forced to stab himself would seem like such a lacklustre way to die for an Angel, but looking at Dean now, Bobby decided it would cause enough trauma to last a lifetime.

The demon was dead.

Castiel slumped to the floor, dazed and Dean, finding himself free again, acted on impulse, drawing the man into a tight hug.

"Almost lost you there, man." He breathed, voice cracking under the weight of his relief at having Cas, his naïve baby in a trench coat, safe in his arms.

* * *

**Author's note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was more difficult to write than the others. Look forward to the next chapter and make sure to tell me what you think and what you expect is coming. It's really interesting to hear what you readers have to say. Also, please excuse any bad grammar or spelling or anything - these chapters are literally written at around 2/3 in the morning. :)**


	6. Whoopsie Daisy

Five men sat in Bobby's living room from ten till eleven that night. For the duration of the hour, Balthazar had explained their predicament: Castiel was the golden prize for both Angels and Demons in their respective races and none were giving in. The demon they'd just encountered? A mere _taste_ of the army that was to befall them if they didn't take the right precautions, one precaution being to keep in touch with the only Angel willing to swoop in and save their asses on a moment's notice – for this Balthazar had requested he was given a mobile phone he'd keep on his person at all times. As far as they knew, they were untraceable for the Holier percentage of their current adversaries and as far as anyone was concerned it was a lucky break, but even so they'd still have to be careful. Angels had watchful eyes everywhere. They could only speculate the reason the tainted percentage wanted their hands on the ex-angel, and that was for information: Now that Castiel was powerless, he was an easy target for interrogation on Heaven's weak spots – assuming it had any.

When all was said and done, every emergency arranged for and Balthazar put on speed-dial, there were only two men left sitting in the dimly lit main room of the only residence at Singer Salvage.

At opposite ends of the couch sat Dean and Castiel, alone.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked, not bothering to look at the man sat parallel. Right now, the hunter felt as if his heart had been turned to steel as it weigh down in his chest, his ribs seemingly tightening around it to keep it in place, making it hard to breathe as he listened to the silence, waiting for a reply.

"Disorientated." Was Castiel's husky answer as he sank into the cushioned back of the sofa, "Are you feeling okay, Dean? Your wrists?"

Dean looked down at his hands, confused, before becoming aware of the scabbing, raw, torn skin underneath his palm and gave a smile, "Nothing to worry 'bout." He said, shaking them into the cool night air to soothe the burning sensation before bringing his hands to his neck, fingers searching for any signs of friction burn from the gag the demon had tugged down. He leaned back into the cushioned sofa himself when he found none, closing his eyes to get some clarity on the night's happenings. _He'd panicked_, that was what recurred to him over and over, and that fact nagged at him. If it were Sam he wouldn't have thought twice about doing whatever it took to disable that Demon, but when it was Cas he just found himself unable to move. He'd been helpless and he _hated_ it.

"I'm sorry about all of this, Dean. I should have been more careful." Castiel sighed, Dean noticing every change in pitch and intake of breath as he blinded himself to his surroundings.

"Its fine, we'll just have to keep an eye out from now on… Wasn't your fault, I shouldn't have left you alone." Dean yawned in return, fatigue slowly creeping up on him after the long day. As the yawn subsided he idly reached out and gave Castiel a consolatory squeeze of his hand. When calloused fingers wrapped around his wrist he winced and opened his eyes to Castiel slowly twisting his hand trapped underneath Dean's own and lifting it up palm-to-palm while he trailed his other hand along the tender skin. A tense atmosphere filled the room and Cas apologised before dropping their hands back down onto the cushions, still in contact.

Dean locked gazes with Castiel briefly before both looked away, yet neither bothering to part their hands. It was clear to Dean that the ex-Angel had been examining the wound and contemplating on his lack of power to heal it, which ultimately ended in the man feeling sorry for himself, but some deluded part of him wanted to believe Castiel simply didn't mind or ponder over the unconventional skin-on-skin contact; so, Dean, putting aside reprimanding himself for letting his hand linger, mentally filed the contact as 'necessary for mutual support after a traumatic experience' and allowed himself to somewhat enjoy the time the two spent, palm-to-palm being their only point of contact, sitting on Bobby's worn old sofa late at night.

Before long Dean entwined their fingers and gave Castiel a reassuring smile partnered with a light squeeze. When Cas looked to him confused by the action he drew his hand away, laying himself down on the couch, making sure he wasn't touching the man sat on the other end. "I think its bed time." He breathed, patting down the pillow before resting his head, "You can sleep in my room."

When he didn't get an immediate reply, Dean could feel the pressure rise up from his chest and to his throat. _Had he freaked him out? Was the hand-holding too much? He's not reading into it is he? Oh God. Oh, shit. I was treating him like a kid – is he mad? _After a few more seconds of self-torture Dean allowed himself a peek over to the other end of the couch, opening one eye just a crack to look across.

What he saw was Castiel in some sort of crisis, sat bold upright, fingers flexing then balling up again as he looked around the room for something to distract himself. "What's up?" Dean croaked, voice catching nervously in his throat.

Castiel lifted a hand to the back of his neck and Dean's eyes locked on the binding link still etched into his wrist, "May I stay down here and sleep on the couch with you?" Cas mumbled, looking off into the corner of the room, avoiding eye contact.

After the brief initial shock, Dean breathed a laugh. "Sure, sure." He waved his hand about in Castiel's direction as if it were a trivial matter and was met with rustling sounds as the man nestled his way into the pillows and lay down in the foetal position as he had been that very morning.

"Y'know," Dean drawled, stretching his legs and dropping them mercilessly onto Cas', "That Demon made me mighty uncomfortable, tying me up like that, so I'm gonna take this opportunity to stretch my legs. Don't like? Don't lie there." He warned, waiting for some argument from his friend now trapped beneath his legs.

"I said I was sorry." was the mumbled reply.

Dean's tone had been bold, but his mind cooed at him: _excuses, excuses – you just wanted some contact._

* * *

Sam woke with a start, bolting upright to the sound of his alarm. Reaching over to the desk beside his bed, he swatted the alarm switch, cutting off the music and dipping the room back into comfortable silence. Sweeping his hair back from his forehead he then trailed it down his face, deciding it was best not to slip back into his dreams and drag himself out of bed. Swiftly getting dressed immediately after waking as he'd done ever since he could remember, he began his daily routine: brush teeth, wash face, fix hair then go down for breakfast before an early morning jog. When he trotted his way down the staircase, however, he came across his brother and their guardian Angel sprawled along the couch, legs tangled together in a heap.

"_I swear it's like watching two teenagers…_" He grumbled, rolling his eyes at the scene and grabbing himself a drink before wandering out the door.

* * *

When Dean awoke, he strategically managed to force himself to ignore the placement of his legs by twisting around and searching for his phone on the small desk behind his head, adamant to keep his eyes closed as his hands patted down the wood surface. When he found the familiar shape, he brought it close to his face and effectively stunned himself by opening his eyes and staring directly at the light that shone at him. It burnt for a moment, but he'd rather that than have the unnerving realisation of just how awkwardly close his foot was to who he'd once called the "_Junkless_ Angel"'s junk.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and slipped back into oblivion.

* * *

Castiel shifted in his sleep and when he felt the odd contact he jolted up, backing into the armrest. Eyes blown wide, he couldn't understand why that had shocked him so, but looking over cautiously to Dean he breathed a sigh of relief to see the man was dead to the world and hadn't experienced the same shock, because _God, was that uncomfortable._

Awkwardly clearing his throat he clumsily made his way off of the sofa by way of the armrest, toppling unevenly over it and landing his feet onto the wood flooring as quietly as he could so as not to wake his sleeping charge before making his way into the kitchen to claim a refreshing drink of water, finding his body uncomfortably clammy thanks to sleeping in Dean's presence; He wasn't surprised the man woke up with no covers half the time – he was potentially a human radiator.

The tap screeched to a halt as Cas stunted the running water and Dean jerked his arm up from his eyes, phone still clutched in one hand. He looked over as Cas stopped in his tracks, Glass pressed to his lips, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Cas," Dean rasped, voice roughened through sleep, "Next time, let's _not_ sleep top 'n' tail, 'kay?"

Castiel jerked his head up and down in agreement before turning his back to Dean, gulping down his drink of water before sweeping out of the room to go claim some more of Dean's clothes to wear, wanting rid of the shirt that clung to his skin.

If he couldn't high-tail it out of the room through teleportation you could damn well count on his finding an excuse to flee on two feet.

* * *

As early morning became early afternoon, the house was bustling with activity. Sam and Bobby went about securing the area with multitudes of strategically hidden Devil's Traps as Dean went on his way to put up the odd Angel Banishing sigil; because Castiel wasn't assigned a task, he decided to follow Dean around.

Before long, watching Dean repeatedly slice at his skin for the blood needed made Castiel feel guilt, something he wasn't too proud of and after watching the blood spill from Dean's forearm for the third time, Castiel couldn't take the pressure in his chest. "Dean, you know… I could just stay in Bobby's panic room, that way there wouldn't be any further trouble on my account." He suggested, taking his eyes away from the fresh blood seeping into the brickwork to fix Dean with what he hoped was a convincing look of confidence in his decision. If he were being honest, he would prefer not to be holed up in that steel nightmare. It was too constricting, too stifling. He hated the concept; but if it would prevent the look of pain sweeping across Dean's face whenever the knife buried into his skin, he would happily lock himself in that room until the end of his days.

"Don't be thick, Cas." Dean sighed, as if he were a father telling his son for the thousandths time that "cooties did not exist" as he swept the blood-saturated cloth over his gushing wound for the last time, bringing it up to the wall and swiping in the last symbol before dropping it onto the cluttered table, pulling out a piece of cloth from his front pocket and tying it securely over the gash to stem the blood flow. "We're not locking you in the panic room. You'd go nuts."

"And how can you be so sure?" Cas snapped defensively.

"Because, it's like clipping your wings. You'd be like a bird trapped in a cage, Angel-boy, and you'd hate it." Dean retorted calmly.

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm not an Angel anymore, Dean. I don't need to… to '_spread my wings_' as it were."

Dean looked at him for a long moment, before letting slip a small smile, "Still an Angel in my books." He stated casually, not noticing when Castiel's gaze steeled and he straightened up in response. Dean left him to mull it over when the man didn't follow him out of the basement.

* * *

The day dragged on and eventually everyone found themselves in the same general perimeter, all within earshot of each other. Sam sat absentmindedly scrolling through a news website, looking for something that seemed out of place that could possibly be a case as Castiel lingered behind him, hunched over and peering over his shoulder at the screen while Dean and Bobby spoke between themselves in the kitchen over a bottle of beer each. Today had been calm, and it was only late afternoon.

"I don't understand, what is all of this?" Castiel asked Sam, gesturing to the list of articles displayed on the website's homepage. Sam looked round at the sound of his voice, unaware the ex-Angel had been standing behind him for a while.

"It's a, uh, website where people report on recent happenings around America. They update daily, so we can see if anything weird's been going on."

When he turned to view the perplexed expression on the man's face, Sam described the page as best as he could at length until the ex-Angel motioned for him to stop, his strained expression amusing Sam quite a bit before he drifted away into the kitchen, muttering bitterly about "Humans and their technology."

Speaking of technology…

"Dean?" Castiel called, walking through the kitchen threshold before coming to a stop at the lone table in the room. "Yesterday, you were going to teach me how to drive. Do you mind if we start now, if there's sufficient time?"

Dean drew the bottle from his lips, looking briefly to Bobby who'd cracked a badly-hidden half smile before facing to the ex-Angel. "Yeah, sure. Go grab your coat; I'll be out in a sec." He told him. Castiel slipped a quick appreciative smile before pivoting on his heel and heading for the front door. Once Castiel was out of earshot, Dean turned on Bobby.

"What's with the smug grin, old man?" He grumbled, tipping the neck of the glass beer bottle towards him accusingly.

"Hey, watch your tone; you're the one who didn't tell us about your little _date_." Bobby replied, coaxing Sam into the conversation with an "Am I right?"

"And hey, you're taking him out in the _Impala_?" Sam chimed in slyly from his trusty laptop.

Dean straightened in his seat. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Dude, you go an inhuman shade of green whenever I want to drive that thing solo and you're letting a guy with absolutely no experience of driving _whatsoever _behind the wheel of your precious 'baby'?"

"Aw man, Sammy, you trying to say you're jealous?" Dean quipped, hiding his nerves. _Why _was _he readily trusting Cas with his most treasured possession?_

Sam snorted, "Nevermind." He drawled, not ready to slam his sibling with any Earth-shattering revelations just yet. "You have a_ date_ to get to, get lost."

Dean breathed a soft victory laugh before following Castiel out into the yard.

* * *

Slipping into the passenger's seat, Dean motioned for Cas to join him in the car, the man hovering nervously about the driver's side door. "Cas, if you're not getting in –"

Castiel plopped himself into the driver's seat and shut the door with care, keeping in mind how much the contraption meant to his passenger. A noise similar to the sound of a zip being pulled met his ears and he turned to witness Dean strapping himself in to his seat. After clipping the seat-belt into its lock securely, Dean looked up to find the ex-Angel staring, puzzled, at him.

"…What?"

"Nothing… Just… What are you doing?"

"Strapping myself in."

"You've never done that before."

"You've never driven before."

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters because I don't want to die, now follow my lead and strap yourself in." Dean gestured to the length of material behind Castiel's head and the man grabbed it, clumsily locking the seat belt into place before looking to Dean to check if he'd done it right.

"Now, on to the next step young Padawon, see those pedals by your feet?" Dean pointed and Castiel followed his finger.

"Yes,"

"Right, the one on the far left is what you call the clutch, you keep one foot on that at all times, you hear me? You only take your foot off when you change gears, if you don't the car stalls and you stop moving. The middle pedal's the breaks and the one closest to me is the gas. You follow?"

Castiel gave a slight nod before Dean went on with his instructions, ranging from how to change gears to how to hold the wheel and before long the two were cruising steadily out of the yard and down the empty road.

"This is admittedly easier than I thought it was going to be." Castiel laughed softly from his seat, eyes skittering away briefly from the road to saddle Dean with a proud gaze.

"You're a natural." Dean commented in reply, watching as Castiel manoeuvred the gear stick smoothly.

"Just good at following orders, I guess." Cas mumbled bitterly in reply, more to himself than his passenger. When Dean looked to him, Castiel purposely focused solely on the road ahead.

"Cas,"

"What is it?"

"Stop the car." Dean instructed bluntly, "Just pull over here." Castiel glanced over to see where Dean was pointing then gently brought the car to a halt on a dirt side-road before turning off the engine. Dean deftly exited the vehicle, Castiel watching as he walked around the bonnet of the car to stop by the driver's seat door, pulling it open and dragging Castiel by the arm out into the open air.

"Dean, did I say something wrong? What are you doing?" Castiel asked, flustered and worried he'd offended the hunter. Dean gave him a flash of a smile in response, tugging on the lapels of his newly cleaned trench coat and flattening any creases that formed.

"Nothing's wrong, Cas. We're going for a walk."

"Why –"

"Just shut your cake hole and walk with me." Dean pressed, walking into the open field. After a brief moment Castiel followed, adamant in the notion he'd said something wrong and ready to stubbornly dig in his heels and find out what.

They trudged on in silence for a long while before either spoke.

"Are you sure I hadn't said anything, Dean?" No reply, "Where are we going? It's getting dark, Sam and Bobby will begin to worry if we don't –"

"Cas, just cool it. I brought you out for some air because you were getting all contemplative in the car; I can't stick it when people do that."

Castiel mentally heard himself _oh_. "I said that out loud?" He mumbled, screwing his eyes shut in humiliation and inwardly berating himself for being so dumb. "I'm sorry, Dean, I –"

"Dude, why do you feel you always have to apologise to me? I swear to God, I've heard you say you're sorry for the hundredth time in the past _week_." Dean gave him a long-suffering stare, his whole being tinted blue in the darkness that consumed them. Castiel looked to the floor, fingering the hem of his sleeve uneasily.

He stopped himself before he habitually vomited another apology, resulting in a strange croaking sounds emitting from the depth of his throat. He snapped his head up, meeting Dean's "_The hell was that?_" expression and subsequently sank into a laugh which Dean joined in on. The air around them seemed lighter as the sounds faded into the dirt breaking under their feet and the grass swiping at their calves, the two wandering aimlessly through the open grassland, the Impala slowly becoming a speck in the distance.

"Listen, Cas," Dean began, curling an arm around the man's shoulders consolingly. "You're not so much of the mindless soldier you think you are, man. I mean, you_ rebelled_, you stopped the apocalypse – how is any part of that going through with your orders? You're good at following instructions, big whoop, a machine can do that –you have a mind of your own. You're not just someone's chess piece, Cas. Buck up."

Silence fell on them again as Dean released Castiel's shoulder, letting him drift off naturally until they were comfortably walking side-by-side again. The ex-Angel didn't look up from the floor and Dean started to get that nervous pressure again. _Why on Earth did he keep having such girly phases…?_

Lifting his hand to the bridge of his healing nose, Dean lightly pinched it to give himself some form of clarity, letting his eyes flutter closed in protest to the emerging headache, unaware Castiel had stationed himself directly in front of him.

Before Dean could open his eyes and careen out of the way, the two collided, legs tangling together as they toppled over in a graceless heap onto the damp grass. Dean attempted to splay out his hands and soften his fall but did so too late as the two found their faces rushing together faster than they could register.

Lips crushing together and teeth painfully colliding, the two ended up locking lips in the most painful way Dean could even begin to imagine.

They both froze.

Dean's forearm was millimetres away from Castiel's ear, his other hand splayed uselessly above Cas' shoulder, the rest of their bodies in blistering contact. Robotically pulling his head away, breaking their impromptu 'kiss,' Dean locked wide-eyed looks of pure panic with the ex-Angel pinned beneath him.

Dean felt his airways constrict as his brain screamed out to him: _you just kissed your Angel!_

Today definitely hadn't been Dean's crowning day of hetero-normality.

* * *

**Author's note: Yay! Progress! Do tell me what you thought of this chapter. Constructive criticism is welcome and let me know what you think might happen! Always fun to hear what the readers have to say. Hope you enjoyed the cliché plot device! Haha~**


	7. Trust

The tall grass acted as a curtain around them as the two lay stock-still, Dean not wanting to have to reel himself into a standing position and cause unnecessary contact (not that more contact than how they were was even possible.) Dean breathed in slow and deep, feeling his own heartbeat in his chest, trying to force the heat down from his cheeks. The breeze swirled around them, rustling the greenery and causing Castiel to shiver underneath Dean's weight, the freezing temperatures crawling under his clothes where the fabric had hiked up in the awkward progression of their fall. Dean ignored the sudden friction and forced a dead-pan stare at the ex-Angel who looked back uncomfortably, unsure of what to do in this… _situation._ However behind the blank almond-coloured eyes that bore into him, Cas couldn't have had any idea of the flurry of thoughts going through the hunter's mind. It was like Dean's whole body had shut down to make way for his brain to process what had happened; he'd had his eyes closed and the next minute he and Cas had hit the floor and each other. Sweeping his eyes over Cas' face it was difficult to see the blood that ran from his bottom lip to his chin in the dark, but he was sure it was there - he had a similar puncture in his lip where it'd clashed with Cas' teeth. More than anything Dean just wanted to lift himself up, but his limbs locked in place and he found his attention swinging back to his drumming heart. _Surely it was just adrenaline?_

Castiel tried to make sense of the man covering him, face like a statue, eyes locked on his and heartbeat hitting viciously into his own chest, their torso's void of any space between. The shivering spell he'd experienced seemed to have rendered Dean in an unmoving state and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. Why not just move off of him? Stand up and then they could get back to the car? Was he angry? Castiel hadn't meant for them to collide, he'd simply wanted to show some appreciation of the effort Dean had went through to cheer him up. In a blind rush he'd stood in front of him to get his attention. Thinking back, why hadn't he just called his name, like usual?

Cas opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of water, muting himself before he spat out the habitual phrase "I'm sorry, Dean."

Suddenly tasting the familiar iron flavour of blood, he instinctively lifted his arm to check the wound. Forearm hitting into Dean's elbow, the man jolted forward and fell ever closer to the ex-Angel's face. Castiel tried to reel back as much as he could manage into the dirt but just successfully cleared enough space between them so that Dean momentarily found their noses grazing each other's before pulling back. The touch dragged him into reality, ears flooding with the sound of the wind whistling in the night air, a sense of self-awareness crawling its way from his feet right up to his shoulders, noting every point of contact. Castiel's uncomfortable expression pooled into view and this time it was Dean's turn to gape. Voice hitching in his throat, Dean couldn't quite explain to himself, never-mind the man pinned beneath him exactly _why_ they were still in said position a full sixty seconds after it had initiated.

Wordlessly beginning to rise, Dean's ears pricked to a distant shuffling and he dropped himself back down. Castiel let out a strangled _"mmf!"_ as the oxygen left his lungs, again trapped under Dean's weight. Covering Castiel's mouth with the palm of his hand, Dean tried to make them as inconspicuous and compact in the high grass as he could when distant voices rolled over their heads.

At first it seemed like idle chatter between two men before one shouted "_Where is the feathered little prick?!_" the second man letting out a snappy laugh, telling his companion to hush.

Dean felt Castiel's ragged breath subside and he became still, fingers uncurling from clawing at Dean's hand clasped tight over his mouth, breath coming steadily as it rolled over Dean's knuckles.

They waited; lying as flat as they could manage figuring it was too late to budge seeing as any movement could give away their location. Reaching around carefully with his free hand, Dean patted down his lower back in search of the gun he usually stored in the hem of his pants and choked back a curse of frustration when he didn't find it. Hearing the voices come closer, Dean slipped his hand away from Cas' mouth and brought his arms to his sides, palms down in the dry dirt. He slowly lifted his body up and steadily bent his head down till his mouth was a hair's breadth away from the shell of Castiel's ear.

"I'm gonna run and distract them. You wait at least ten seconds before making a break for the car, you understand?"

Before Cas could respond, Dean shot up from him and began sprinting up the field.

* * *

Dean's heavy footsteps smashed against the earth beneath his feet as he dashed his way forward on the slightly uneven ground, shouting a quick "_Over here, you dicks!_" to catch the duo's attention, watching them at a distance as they spun round, eyes indistinguishable from the night sky. The first to run towards him was the younger-looking of the two, with short hair and a tall frame. The second was slightly shorter, with slower reactions but who ran faster than the first. Dean heightened his pace when he registered just how quick they were and headed across the width of the field, disappearing into the trees.

* * *

Castiel lay and mentally counted up to ten before raising himself from the floor slightly to look over the blades of grass obscuring his vision. Seeing no-one, he got to his feet and ran back to the black speck in the far distance that was Dean's beloved Impala, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure he wasn't being followed. Pace slowing to a light jog as he reached the car, he pulled his hand away as he instinctively reached for the driver's door handle, instead tracing his hand along the sleek paint until he got to the trunk. Flipping it open, he uncovered the weapons compartment and sifted through ranges of guns, bullets, knives and stakes until he came across the weapon he wanted. Gripping the demon-killing knife in his hand tightly, he deftly closed the trunk and ran as quickly as his vessel's legs could carry him into the trees. Dean would undoubtedly be tracking his way back to the road for guidance and _surely_ he didn't mean for him to drive away when he told him to get to the Impala… right?

* * *

Dean tried to steady his breathing as he sprinted haphazardly across the small forest, avoiding as many branches and roots as he could, the footsteps of the two Demons on his heels still as loud as when they'd first reached throwing distance of him. They weren't slowing down. He veered to the right and started making his way to the road; when he was at the road he could run that last stretch back to Bobby's and hopefully Cas would already be there – if he didn't reach Singer Salvage he'd be right there for the taking if his brother and Bobby would be oh so kind as to drive out and help him. Letting out the odd grunt of frustration when he steered to close to the sharp bark of the trees surrounding him, Dean eventually began to feel the strain on his legs from prolonging his sprint, but thankfully the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him upright and moving forward, maintaining the few metres of distance between him and his pursuers.

One or both of the Demons cackled now and again, giddily screeching out to their target whenever they covered a few paces of distance between them and him.

When Dean's foot collided with a hidden tree root in the underbrush, he toppled forward at a breakneck speed. The ground rushed towards him and he raised his arms, curling the upper half of his body enough that he flipped violently onto his tailbone. Hitting up off of the floor painfully, the momentum made him skid forward a few paces, the odd twig or stone catching and tearing at the flesh of his lower back. Sucking the air in through bared teeth his eyes squeezed shut at the pain shooting up his spine; when he opened them again the supposed view of the sky was replaced with a stunning white. Thinking he'd hit his head, Dean tried to push himself up from the floor and keep running, beginning to panic when he heard no footsteps around him, but instead of rising through the white his forehead pressed against cold fabric. Jerking his head away, a gurgling sound close to his ear made the breath catch in his throat. Dean snapped his head around to see the shorter Demon inches from him, eyes blown wide and blood slithering its way down his face. The scene began to register slowly as he witnessed the knife slide out of the Demon's forehead, eyes trailing to the hilt, to a firm hand, followed by the familiar tan colour of Castiel's trench coat.

Hunched over him, Dean recognised Castiel's form in the dark, one arm outstretched holding the weapon and the other braced by Dean's head; The woodland soil was bunched up around the ex-Angel's knees on either side where he'd skidded over Dean's prostrate form to stab his assailant through the skull.

Castiel tilted to the side and shifted his weight to one leg as he slowly rose from the floor, eyeing up the taller demon with pure hostility. Adjusting the knife in his hand he deftly threw the blade forward, piercing the second pursuer square in the heart as he drew back from them. The familiar sound of one of Hell's minions dying was brief, followed by a hefty thud as the tall corpse slumped to the dirt.

Dean let his head lull back and he sucked in oxygen greedily, lungs burning, legs numb and back stinging. Castiel staggered over, exhausted, to the dead man; turning the limp body onto its back he pulled the knife from its chest before sliding down the bark of a nearby tree and plopping gracelessly to the soil, panting and letting his legs fall apart as they cramped with the exertion.

"Cas," Dean gasped, rolling onto his front to fix the man with a heavy-lidded look through the gloom, "When I said 'make a break for the car' I meant '_drive away._'"

Castiel smiled faintly at the ground. "Don't be an idiot, Dean."

* * *

Bobby's front door clicked open at an almost deafening volume as the two stumbled their way in. Limbs stiff and heavy they both lurched towards the couch, slumping into the soothing cold fabric, Dean sighing as it eased the burning in the wounds on his back.

No words were being uttered in the flat gloom of the familiar room and both men's eyes were slowly closing when two pairs of footsteps tapped loudly down the stairs, snapping them back into awareness. Dean was the first to groan as Sam rounded the corner.

"Where the _hell_ have you two been?" He asked, gesturing at the two who remained seated, staring up at the youngest Winchester with solid expressions, too tired to react to a telling-off.

"Starting to think you'd crashed or somethin'" Bobby grumbled, emerging from behind Sam and wandering into the kitchen, switching on the light and making Dean flinch at the brief blinding white.

"We ran into a bit of trouble," Dean muttered, voice a weight in his throat.

Sam exhaled, lips pursed and stern look on his face. Dean gave him a cheeky smirk in reply.

"You hurt?" The sibling sighed, scanning over his brother and his friend – who was slowly sliding down the couch onto the armrest, falling asleep – for injuries. "You get punched in the face or something?" Sam asked, pointing to Dean's bloody lip.

Dean flattened a panicked hand over his lip to obscure the wound from view and winced when it stung at the touch. Sam's eyes widened briefly, eyebrows furrowing, confused by his brother's reaction. Dean let out a few notes of harsh laughter, coughing to clear his throat. "No – I mean, yes! Yes." He stuttered, getting up to leave.

Sam watched with a bemused expression as Dean covered the stairs with unusual haste and slammed his door shut.

Drawing his eyes away from the landing, Sam fixed Bobby with a "What's wrong with him?" look before turning his attentions to the ex-Angel slumped on the couch; Upon closer inspection, he noticed the man had a similar cut on his lip. Perching himself on the edge of the sofa, Sam prodded Cas' arm, curious.

"Hey, Cas?"

Castiel jerked upwards, surprised by the sharp poke in his side, "What! What?"

"Your lip… How'd you get that? Get hit?" Sam questioned, pointing at the cut. Cas looked over to him lazily, eyes glazed over in a daze; Castiel found it frustrating that after a full day his body shut down without his conscious consent, but assumed it all boiled down to the time spent never sleeping when he had his Grace. He wondered if Jimmy had felt this tired when he was chained to the passenger's seat with an entity that never closed his eyes but to blink.

"No," He stated bluntly, lifting his arms up as he prepared to elaborate. "Dean and I fell over and our faces kind of went…" Castiel demonstrated the clash wordlessly, clapping and clasping his hands together in front of an increasingly gleeful Sam as the history dawned on him.

"So, uh, how'd it get _cut?_" Sam prompted breathily, trying to hold the giggle at the back of his throat.

"Dean's teeth." Castiel said casually.

Sam bit into his finger to stop himself as the laugh rolled off of his tongue, snapping his head round to Bobby who stood in the kitchen doorway, a mixture of mute shock and amusement on his face.

* * *

The house was quiet in the late hours of the night, when the moon was highest in the sky. No owls were _hoot_-ing and no breeze was rattling the windows of Bobby's home, leaving a dead hush in its wake.

Castiel shuffled soundlessly up the wooden stairs, slinking into Dean's room carefully and then sat himself lightly on the edge of the bed. He looked at Dean's sleeping form for a concise moment – curled in his covers, one leg resting on top in the open air and arm slung forward, splayed in front of his face. Dean's torso rose and fell steadily, his breath the only sound in the room.

Hunching over, Castiel brought his hands to his sleep-stuck eyes and rubbed them slowly, sighing quietly before running his hand down to the healing wound on his bottom lip. He stroked over it curiously, not used to the feeling of a healing injury.

He'd woken up when the cold had rattled him, but sitting here in the dark of Dean's room he wondered why he'd came here. He didn't have the heart to wake him after the day they'd had and it wasn't as if Dean would let him stay for the night, anyway; he'd tell him to grab a duvet and go back to the couch – not that Cas knew where the duvets were. Come to think of it, he didn't know where many things were without directions from any of the three other residents. A wave of self-pity struck him then. _Why was he so useless?_ He couldn't do anything. He only knew how to fight and with the precaution's they'd taken he didn't have much confrontation to do so.

Letting his mind run through fresh self-loathing and want of his Grace, Cas didn't notice when Dean shifted behind him.

"Cas?" Dean grumbled, looking to the end of the mattress where Castiel's silhouette loomed.

Twitching at the sound of his name, Cas swivelled around a touch, not quite facing the man who was once his appointed charge. When had he stopped becoming his charge and became his friend?

"Yes, Dean?" He answered quietly, suddenly conscious of how strange his actions must seem, inwardly berating himself for drifting up to the room thoughtlessly.

"Y'know, I'll never get used to you just _appearing_ whenever I wake up." He said flatly, remembering the times Castiel had dropped in out of the blue when he had his mojo. "Somethin' bothering you?"

"Uh, no… I was just cold. I…" He paused a moment. "Can you just tell me where the extra sheets are, and I'll leave you to sleep? Sorry, I keep waking you."

There was the sound of ruffling sheets and Dean sniffing before a soft pat sounded on the mattress. "There're no more duvets so you're gonna have to bunk with me... again." Dean uttered as casually as he could, running a hand through his hair and exhaling before pulling back the covers and shuffling to give Cas more room.

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck as he usually did when he was nervous and stood; he walked slowly around the bed before carefully placing himself in the space Dean had left and lifted up the covers. Nestling into the warmth, his appreciation for Dean's human-furnace-like properties teetered on the opposite end of the scale as it had been that morning.

The two both actively ignored the tensing of the other when their backs came in contact.

"This is better than sleeping top 'n' tail, I guess." Dean murmured, more to himself than Cas who wriggled under the sheets a bit in response.

"Dean, is your lip okay?" Cas asked, mind wandering, completely changing the subject. He'd felt guilty since the incident.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and bared his teeth. _Shit._ He'd hoped the whole fiasco had been conveniently forgotten. "Yeah, Cas. It's fine. Just a nip." He answered mechanically, not really sure of what else he could say; _my pride's intact still, if that's what you're worried about? That would be a lie. "Not like we kissed, though, right?_ _You couldn't call that a kiss."_

"No, Dean, that wasn't a kiss." Castiel sighed indignantly, almost as if he were talking with a child.

Dean stiffened up, muscles tensing and tension rising in the point of contact between them. _Oh, God. He said that out loud?_

"Of course it wasn't a kiss, you ass." He snapped defensively, embarrassed. _Holy shit, why did he have to say _that _out loud rather than anything else? Just his luck._

"Don't get aggressive, Dean. I was just stating the fact that what happened isn't classed as a kiss."

Dean snorted, "Exactly. Not like you would know what a kiss was anyway." Once the words left his mouth, Dean immediately regretted them. That was a bit too far.

Castiel took it in his stride. "I've been watching over Earth for millennia, Dean. I know what a kiss is."

Dean couldn't stop himself, "Well, never _experienced_ one, then."

An uneasy feeling swirled in the hunter's chest when his last comment was met with icy silence.

"Cas…?"

No reply.

"Hey, dude, if I offended you, I'm –"

"No, you're right."

Dean felt the tension ease from his shoulders at the sound of the man's voice.

"So, you've never kissed someone? Not even an Angel? I mean… Not having sex is one thing, but to not have kissed someone is a bit unbelievable." Dean's tone had slipped into one of someone in deep contemplation. He remembered being surprised when the Angel had told him he hadn't 'had occasion' to have sex with any other being, but had thought the man had _at least_ planted one on someone - even if it wasn't in the romantic sense. "Maybe I should just drag you back to one of those "Dens of iniquity" you love so much." He joked, nudging Castiel playfully in the back with his elbow.

"No thank you, Dean." Cas hastily declined. Dean laughed at the earnest rejection of the idea. "I appreciate you trying to help, but I'd rather not feel kissing someone was compulsory; especially a stranger."

Dean paused to mull over Castiel's words. Rolling onto his back he felt one sole idea clawing to the forefront of his mind. _What if…?_

Pulling himself upright, Dean gently tugged Cas over onto his back by his shoulder. The ex-Angel didn't struggle but instead just looked completely and utterly lost, staring up at the hunter in the darkness, faces glowing in the black where the moon shone down through the open curtains.

Castiel looked about the room for a moment. "Is there something wrong, Dean?"

Dean didn't say anything but instead drew in a sharp breath through his nose and shook his head from side to side. _Castiel couldn't label him a stranger; neither would he be pinned in a situation he couldn't get out of. Maybe this would ease those confusing feelings he'd been having lately? Get it out of the way .Just maybe._

Organising his resolve and clinging on to it desperately, Dean leaned over the man lying bemusedly beside him in his narrow single bed and lowered his head. He held fierce eye contact with Castiel to monitor his reaction as he closed the gap between them.

When their lips brushed together gently, Dean watched as Cas' eyes blew wide and he searched Dean's own green irises for an explanation that he couldn't give.

After loaded seconds of one-sided motion, he drew their lips apart. As he twitched his head back, he could feel his stomach turn and clench in apprehension before he felt a light push against the sensitive skin of his lower lip, Dean's eyes flickered downwards a moment before locking gazes with the man for a second time. Castiel kept his sapphire eyes fixed on Dean, and Dean wasn't quite sure if he found it unnerving or encouraging.

The fallen Angel's eyes were like windows – transparent, clear; he had initially been panicked, but that had quickly subsided. Right now, they were pooling with curiosity. Although Dean wasn't sure whether the man was comfortable with what was happening, he bravely leaned back in.

Taking a risk, Dean shut his eyes, drawing his focus from Cas' tell-all gaze and training it on his mouth, steadily deepening the kiss until Cas brought himself up to speed.

_He's learning_, Dean laughed inwardly.

By the end of this, if everything went balls up, Dean assured himself he could think up an excuse.

He hoped, anyway.

* * *

**Author's note: Can't write a kiss if my life depended on it! So sorry! But I tried. Anyway, YAY! PROGRESS! Dean's being very experimental here, so I hope I conveyed that well enough. Also, I imagine Cas would be inexperienced, but he wouldn't be hesitant or fearful of a kiss like it's portrayed sometimes - I mean, he went right for it with Meg in S6, and she's a demon. (Although with this altered timeline that will never happen now, hehe.) Please leave your thoughts in a review and tell me what you think's gonna happen next! Always so intriguing to hear what the readers have to say. Hope this chapter lives up to your standards - wouldn't want to disappoint...**


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